TARFU
by snooky-9093
Summary: Meaning...well, you can figure it out. February, 1945: Two Allied spies, an American colonel, and one German general in up to his you know what, equals another mess! A sequel to SNAFU AND FUBAR! PBA Winner! Bronze long comedy.
1. Chapter 1

_TARFU_

_Chapter one_

Gingerly avoiding all the rubble left over from air raids, as well as the passersby, an elderly man made his way slowly down a crowded Berlin street. Like the other Berliners, he carefully avoided looking at anyone, and walked with a purpose. It was dangerous to meet another one's eyes, or to hesitate for even a moment. His eyes downcast, he appeared not to notice the Gestapo officer heading his way, and they collided.

"You clumsy oaf." The agent bent down and retrieved his hat. He then looked at the now terrified man. "Papers!"

"Yes, sir," his victim stammered, as he panicked and dropped his cane.

"I'll get it." The agent stopped him. "Hurry up, old man."

"Here they are."The man handed over a wallet.

The agent gave the papers a cursory glance. He passed them back. "Carry on." He turned.

"Sir? My cane. If you please."

"Here."

The man took the cane and headed in the opposite direction, while the agent continued forward.

OSS agent Todd Boswell stared at a map of Germany taped to a wall in a small studio apartment located in the only building left standing in a bombed out section of Berlin. Fearing the building was unstable, most of the residents had fled, and Boswell and his partner Mitch Garrett were confident they would be safe, at least for a while. They had been on the move now for months, changing locations every few weeks, trucking their own small spy operation with them wherever they went.

"Ah ha." Boswell licked his lips and gleefully moved a set of red push pins to the right. He then began removing several black pins and moved their locations as well. A prearranged tap on the door interrupted his work.

"Anything?" He asked his partner, as Garrett came in and began to remove his outerwear.

"Yeah. It's damn cold." Garrett rubbed his hands together. "We're going to freeze in here."

"I found some more wood." The apartment still had a working fireplace.

"Orion passed me info in code. Here." Garrett handed Boswell a sheet of paper. "He's leaving."

" He brought out the cane?" Boswell asked.

Garrett nodded. "Things are getting too dangerous around here. Well," he continued as he rubbed his hands together…"who knows how much longer we'll be here."

"Shame. He's a good contact. Warm up and I'll decode this. ..It's the usual stuff," Boswell reported a few moments later. "Troop movements. This is interesting. Dissention in the ranks. Unhappy generals. Booby trapped bridges."

Garrett walked over. While blowing on his hands, he looked over his partner's shoulders. "Any rumors?"

"Hang on. Let me get this stuff out." Boswell began tapping out a message, waited for confirmation and then continued. "Here we go," he said happily. "Hitler's fired his astrologer."

Garrett laughed.

"This one's not funny," he said soberly. "Germans are beginning to evacuate POW camps out east…in front of the Russians. They're sending prisoners out on forced marches."

"Monsters." Garrett commented. "Send that one out."

"German headquarters initiating prisoner swap." Boswell said. "That's nothing new. Switching generals now?"

"Little late." Garrett shook his head. "Maybe amputees?"

"No, wait." Boswell continued reading. "Not an Allied general. It's." He stopped talking.

"It's. It's. It's, what, who?"

"A colonel," Boswell whispered. "For a general. The Allies wouldn't take a colonel for a general. Can't be true… That's…"

"No… Give me that." Garrett grabbed the sheet of paper, almost tearing it in half. "Oh boy…"

"We should warn him. This doesn't make sense."

"Todd. Shouldn't we verify this first? It's probably a fake."

"Maybe . But would it hurt to give him a heads up?"

"No." Garrett grabbed the radio. "But I'm saying one thing. I'm not going back to Stalag 13. Forget it! I almost got killed the last time I was there."

Boswell pushed Garrett's hand away and began to fiddle with the dials. "We won't have to. We just tell Hogan the rumor, and signoff. Done! See? A favor." He twiddled until he got the special frequency Hogan had shared with them before they last parted company the previous October; sent out a call, and waited for a response that never came.

* * *

"Colonel, Olsen's back."

"Thanks, Newkirk." Hogan marked the page in the book he was reading, and hopped down from the top bunk. He was hoping for good news. Radio detector trucks had been roaming the area for three days, effectively shutting down the operation. Two fliers were patiently waiting in the tunnels for a pick-up time; everyone else was beginning to get ornery.

"Well?" Hogan asked his outside man.

"No good, sir." Olsen answered. "They're all over the place. I had to take the long way back."

"Nuts." Hogan shook his head. He hated a lack of control. It reminded him that despite everything, he was indeed a prisoner. "All right. Tell Breyer and McDowell they'll get to enjoy our hospitality a few more days."

"Oscar said he'll keep an eye out and let us know if anything changes," Olsen added before he headed into the tunnels.

"All right. Everyone go back to whatever you were doing." Hogan sighed and went back into his office.

* * *

"They must be in radio silence; or it's not working." Boswell gave up dealing with the transmitter.

"Or worse." Garrett offered. "Nah. We would've heard something. Wouldn't we?"

Boswell shrugged. "Likely. I'll contact HQ and let them know. At least it's something."

"Worth a shot," Garrett agreed.

"Thanks for the heads up," HQ replied a moment later. "We'll inform Papa Bear's contacts and get back to you."

"Well? Anything good to eat?" Garrett walked over to a shelf filled with tins of food bought on the black market. He grabbed some canned corn beef, and a loaf of bread, and began making a sandwich. "You want one?" He asked his partner.

"Nope. I haven't had a decent corn beef sandwich since I left New York City. I'll get homesick if I eat that crap."

"You're too fussy. Wish we had some mustard." Garrett took a bite. "It's dry." He opened a tin of peaches and dipped the sandwich into the juice.

"That's disgusting." Boswell turned away. "Now you ruined the can."

"Easier to get down." Garrett swallowed hard. He grabbed a tin and tossed it. "Here's some canned plums."

"Whatever." Boswell started to open the can, but stopped as the transmitter came alive. "That was quick." He rushed over. The message came through in Morse code.

Garrett waited patiently between bites of the dry sandwich for Boswell to look over the message.

"Ahem." Boswell cleared his throat. "Contact made. New transmission from HQ in 5 minutes."

"HQ?" Garrett asked. "His HQ or our HQ?"

"His HQ." Boswell stated.

"Didn't think they'd give us the time of day." Garrett tossed the empty can of peaches into the garbage.

"Let bygones be bygones." Boswell reached for the can of plums. "At least we haven't shot each other...accidentally, that is."

Six minutes later, the two agents stared at each other; both struck dumb by what they heard. Indeed, it was confirmed to their relief, that Stalag 13 was observing radio silence. But…Hogan _was_ being swapped, for a general, no less. The swap had been initiated by the Germans, possibly authorized by Berlin. The general was worthless, the Allies knew it… The Germans knew it… But…London felt it would be suspicious to refuse the return of a decorated commander. However, with the war hopefully nearing its final stage, Hogan was still needed elsewhere. And so, because of their familiarity with Stalag 13, and their demonstrated proficiency of moving throughout the country…plus… just plain dumb blind luck, Boswell and Garrett were ordered to stop the swap.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

"Stop the swap, return his highness to Stalag 13, and if it's not too much trouble, we'll take the general back, all with making it seem the Germans were the culprits," Boswell repeated. "Why don't we cure the common cold while we're at it?"

Garrett choked on his coffee, and sputtered. "His highness…"

"We have two days to figure out how to pull off this caper," Boswell stated solemnly as he strode over to the map.

Garrett, who was now fiddling with the radio, didn't answer.

Boswell left the map, and walked over to join his partner. "Still trying to reach Hogan?"

"Figure it was worth a shot. I vote to keep trying until it's too late."

* * *

Klink, hesitating outside the door to General Burkhalter's office, straightened his jacket, checked his teeth in a little pocket mirror for any signs of lunch, gathered up his courage, and knocked.

"Enter."

"You wanted to see me General Burkhalter?"

"Klink. Yes. Good." Burkhalter, who was standing, plopped himself behind his desk. He didn't invite Klink to take a seat. "Are you at all familiar with General Steinmetz?"

"Should I be?"

"Not necessarily," the general replied. "His father was a general, his father's father was a general, and his father's, father's father was a general. Sound familiar?"

"No, sir."

"Figures." Burkhalter pushed his chair back a few feet and leaned forward. "General Steinmetz was captured two weeks ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Klink. He's an idiot. Always has been and always will be. He refused to look at a map or ask directions. He ordered his driver to go the wrong way, and then ran right into an American convoy."

"That was very unwise of him," Klink, who was wondering what this had to do with him, commented.

"His family wants him back."

"Well, any family would," Klink interrupted

"Don't interrupt! His family is close to Eva Braun's family. So we are initiating a prisoner swap."

Klink nodded his head. "Of course. I see, a general for a general," he stated with conviction.

"No. We have no American generals available in this sector."

"Excuse me general. But what does this have to do with me?" Klink asked nervously.

"Generalleutnant Berger (1) has authorized a swap and asked me to come up with a suitable candidate. Someone the Allies would want returned, even if he is of a lower rank. You see Klink; the Allies most likely know Steinmetz is worthless, and they'll let him go if someone suitable is offered in exchange. "

"And that someone would be sir?"

"Hogan, Klink."

"But, but… He's been here so long… Surely there must be someone else."

"Hogan, Klink!" Burkhalter slammed his fist on the desk. "From the time Hogan arrived at your camp, strange things have been happening in the area. Don't deny it!"

"I know, sir.… Major Hochstetter… he suspects Hogan, but it's simply ridiculous." Klink's face paled and he began to sweat.

"Whether it is ridiculous or not Klink is immaterial. It is still a possibility." Burkhalter rose. "I thought about having him transferred to another camp."

"What kind of camp?" Klink asked nervously.

"An Oflag. And why are you so interested in his welfare? Hmmm?" Burkhalter stared at Klink.

_Since he's kept me from going to the Russian Front more times than I could mention. And there's the time he helped catch the escaped prisoners. And the time…_

"Stop daydreaming," Burkhalter growled. "And stop slouching. You know you have a weird habit of doing that. Germans shouldn't have such bad posture. It's annoying and looks ridiculous. Especially when you walk." Burkhalter sauntered over to his mirror and checked his reflection. Satisfied, he turned and faced the Kommandant.

Klink cleared his throat and stood at attention. "Sorry, sir. You were saying he should be transferred?"

"I don't want the man dead. He'd probably be missed and people would talk. But he's trouble. Hochstetter may be right. If so, Hogan will be caught eventually. And where does that leave us, Klink?" Burkhalter didn't give the Kommandant an opportunity to answer. "You'll be put the front of a firing squad for being stupid, and I'll be sent east for appointing you to run Stalag 13 in the first place. And then I can sit and wait for the Russians."

"Firing squad?" Klink swallowed hard. Klink's gut feeling was that this was bad. Very bad. For the most part, Hogan kept his men under control, and lately, Klink, seeing the writing on the wall, and hoping for a decent reference, had been buttering the colonel up a bit. He thought of it as his own little insurance policy for when the camp was liberated and the war crimes commissions were looking for sacrificial lambs.

"Don't tell Colonel Hogan where he is going." Burkhalter handed Klink a set up papers and grinned an evil grin. "Call it payback for the bombsight episode. No one makes a fool out of me and gets away with it." (2)

"But...But…General. We did discover that Hogan spoke perfect German. In the Hofbrau, remember? And he didn't deny it. Amazing that his interrogators didn't find out, don't you think? But we did. That has to count for something." Klink was groveling, something he did very well. The Kommandant wanted to ask the general where his humanity had gone, but held his tongue.

Burkhalter glared at Klink; something he did very well. And indeed, as per norm, the general's glare beat Klink's grovel by a mile, eliciting a mumbled apology, a step back, and a downcast gaze.

"May I remind you that I had to justify taking a prisoner dressed as a German officer, out for a night on town? Where I filled this con-artist, disguised as an American flyboy, up with expensive liquor. And then I brought in an expert, who did not appreciate having his time wasted and had no qualms about complaining to his superiors. Do you know what happened to my expense report?" Burkhalter grabbed a sheet of paper, tore it into little pieces and flung them into the air.

"It wasn't approved?"

* * *

Garrett and Boswell, having been notified of the date, time and place of the prisoner swap, packed up their belongings and vacated their apartment. The last attempt to notify Stalag 13 failed, and they now faced a harrowing and dangerous trip from Berlin to a safe house near the Swiss border. In order to avoid the strafing and bombing, they managed through some Swiss connections to obtain the safest form of transport, an ambulance with a huge red cross painted on the top. They set off on back roads, planning to come up with a strategy on the fly.

"Did you know that elephants can't jump?" Garrett asked Boswell.

Boswell, who was driving, swerved around a crater, let out curse, then looked over at his partner, and responded, "did you know I haven't had a decent bagel since I left New York City, and I don't care about elephants."

"How far have we gone?"

"Twelve kilometers and 20 minutes since you asked me the last time. At this rate, we won't get there until tomorrow. "

"The autobahn is too dangerous," Garrett mused. "But, I know a shortcut… Up about 5 miles." He pointed as Boswell hit another pothole, eliciting a groan from his partner. "Watch it, or we'll lose the shocks."

"We're a going to lose a lot more if we don't get there before it gets dark. At this rate…" Boswell did some quick calculations in his head. "I'm guessing 10 hours."

"Man," Garrett countered. "I say nine."

"Care to make a bet?" Boswell grinned. "I'm right. Box of oranges. Your treat."

"You're on." Garrett replied. "If I'm right. You buy me a corned beef sandwich and a dozen bagels."

* * *

This time, Burkhalter was taking no chances with Hogan. It was impossible to commandeer a plane at the moment, so a truck would have to do. Four men, the driver and his relief, and two guards in the back, would accompany the colonel to the Swiss border. He left strict orders to have Hogan handcuffed and informed the guards not to speak with the prisoner. He didn't trust Hogan one iota. The last time he had attempted to make Hogan disappear, everything backfired. The spy in Allied headquarters revealed nothing interesting, but managed somehow to pull off a ridiculous scenario that Hogan was to be sent home to sell war bonds, while an ineffective and straight-laced British Group Captain, Colonel Crittenden, was sent to Stalag 13 to take Hogan's place. The spy was in the process of arranging safe passage for Hogan out of the country, through Gestapo agents disguised as members of the underground. However, he was obviously caught before the arrangements were finalized, and he was never heard from again. Meanwhile, Klink stupidly sent the colonel off to another stalag in a truck that was supposedly ambushed … And then… Hogan turned up back at Stalag 13… voluntarily … Yes, this time, Burkhalter mused as he poured himself a glass of sherry, there would be no mistakes. (3)

* * *

Hogan was absent mindedly throwing darts at a picture of Goering he had tacked up on the wall of his office, when he heard a knock at the door. "Come in," he said as he threw the dart. "Bull's eye!"

"Nice shot, sir! There's a truck in the compound," Newkirk reported. "Just sitting there. And Schultz says Klink wants to see you in his office right away."

"I'll be right there." Hogan walked over to the wall and pulled out the darts. He handed them to Newkirk, then tore down the picture, crumpled it up and threw it away.

"Should we be listening in, colonel?"

"Sure. If you want." Hogan replied. "But it's probably not important. Most likely some new prisoners coming in."

Hogan glanced at the small truck as he quickly walked across the compound with Schultz. The two were discussing the weather, as they walked up the steps and into the building. Hogan smiled at Hilda, and then waltzed into Klink's Office.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Hogan blew on his hands. He noticed Klink looked uncomfortable.

"Schultz, stay here please." Klink moved some items on his desk, and cleared his throat.

"More prisoners coming in, Kommandant?" Hogan assumed they were in the truck. Prisoners were coming in almost daily, and the camp was now in danger of being overcrowded. That, combined with the radio silence, was making him testy.

"No. Not today, Hogan." Klink stood up. "I, um, I'm sorry, but… I have to… You're leaving the camp, Hogan. Orders from Berlin."

"Good one." Hogan chuckled. "Now, what's really going on?"

"It's true. The truck outside…" Klink moved to over to the window. "They'll be taking you."

"Take me? Where?" Hogan demanded.

"Where? Well…I can't say. I'm sorry." Klink felt so guilty, he almost blabbed. But Burkhalter would have taken away his command, not to mention his life, if he found out.

"You can't say? I don't believe this! Why? And what happens to the men here?"

"Captain Mitchell will be the new senior POW officer. He's holds the next highest rank." (4)

"I know. But…" Hogan argued.

"I'll have the men in your barracks pack up your personal belongings and send them on." Klink couldn't look Hogan in eye. Instead he looked at the floor, before turning to Schultz; who was standing by the door with his mouth hanging open. "Schultz please put the colonel in handcuffs, and an escort him to the truck. And close your mouth before you catch flies."

"There are no flies in this camp, Kommandant. They all froze," Schultz answered. He then shut his mouth.

"Who asked you?" Klink reached behind his desk, and pulled out a small can of paint. "Mark the colonel's jacket and shirt."

Schultz was shocked. "Handcuffs? And paint his jacket and shirt? But, Kommandant."

"All prisoners being transferred are to be handcuffed," Klink snapped. "That's policy. You know that, Schultz. As is the K on the uniform." (5)

"I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan," Schultz whispered. He picked up the can of paint and the brush.

"Kommandant. This uniform is army issue. They frown on graffiti," Hogan protested, as Schultz started his brushstrokes.

* * *

The men in the barracks listening in on the pot were prepared to run right outside, when they were stopped by Kinch. "Hold it," he said. "We can't do anything until we see him come out."

* * *

"Kommandant. Can I please have some time to speak with my men?" Hogan pleaded as Schultz cuffed his hands in front.

Thinking it was the least he could do, Klink agreed. "Schultz, give Colonel Hogan a moment…then escort him to the truck."

"He's coming back to the barracks!" LeBeau shouted from the office. The men closed the door and waited.

Schultz couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what had happened. He knew Klink would not have arranged this. Hochstetter, for all of his bombast, was ranked below Klink. Was it Burkhalter? Unlikely, he thought. The general always appeared to be out for himself more than anything, and while not cordial, at least respectful to the American officer. Someone had seen something, Schultz feared. And talked. He sighed as he walked with Hogan back to the barracks. He was sure this would be the last time he would see the colonel alive. Although, he recalled hopefully, Hogan had many tricks up his sleeve.

"Schultz." Hogan stopped at the door. "Wait outside."

"Five minutes, Colonel." Schultz removed the cuffs.

Hogan nodded and then walked in. Everyone began talking at once.

"Settle down."

"Colonel, with the radio down, we can't order an ambush," Newkirk complained.

"We can go out through the tunnel and catch the truck up ahead a ways. We'll need a head start," Carter offered.

"There are four men with the truck." Mills, who was looking out the window, reported.

"You'll never make it." Hogan decided not to risk his men. He'd figure something out on the way to wherever he was going. "It's too dangerous and obvious. I'll have to play it by ear. Kinch. You're in charge of the operation. Mitchell will handle the day to day operations. He'll be moving in here, I suppose. As soon as the radio silence is broken, call London and the Underground.

Again, the men, all began to protest.

"Can it." Hogan said. "We're probably going to Colditz. I can get out of there," he said with more conviction than he felt.

"Wouldn't Klink have said where you were going?" Goldman, usually one of the quiet ones, asked.

Hogan shook his head. "He had orders not to say. Although he wanted to." He left out how uncomfortable Klink had appeared. He didn't want to worry his men. He was worried enough for them.

Schultz opened the door. "Colonel Hogan, it's time."

"I'm coming." Hogan took one last look at the barracks and his men. "I expect you to give Captain Mitchell all the courtesy, and loyalty you have given me. And," he paused, "To make sure every single man in this camp makes it home. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." The men stood at attention, saluting Hogan as he left the building.

"Schultz?"

"Yes, Colonel," Schultz replied as he gently put the handcuffs back on Hogan.

"There's a chocolate bar in my top pocket. With almonds. Take it. Go ahead."

Schultz removed the bar.

"You remember the last thing I said?"

Schultz nodded.

"Good. Keep an eye on things," was the last thing Hogan uttered before he was helped into the back of the truck.

* * *

(1)Gottlob Berger: SS general put in charge of Germany's prisoners of war in autumn of 1944

(2) "Top Hat, White Tie and Bomb Sight." In this episode, Klink and Burkhalter witness Hogan speak with a waiter etc. There are many examples in other episodes, where he had to be speaking German in front of these two.

(3) "Hogan, Go Home" I believe Crittendon, a British officer, should have been a Group Captain, not a Colonel. Since he was weird, maybe he liked to refer to himself as Colonel. Especially since he had seniority. I always thought the scenario was ridiculous, so I made up an actual explanation.

(4) Captain John Mitchell, "The Big Gamble" Captain Mitchell must have stayed in camp. He wasn't sent out through the tunnel system.

5)Slang for POW, from the German Kriegsgefangen. The prisoners shortened it to Kriegie. I read somewhere that the Germans painted the letter K on prisoners' uniforms to make it harder for them to escape. I can't find the reference, but as soon as I do, I will post it another chapter. After the Dieppe raid, where German prisoners were allegedly handcuffed and then subsequently drowned, Hitler issued an edict, requiring allied POW's to be handcuffed. Numerous internet memoirs mention shackles and handcuffs. In this case, given Burkhalter's suspicion of Hogan, I think the use of handcuffs would be standard.


	3. Chapter 3

Hogan made himself comfortable on a bench, and gazed innocently at the two young Wehrmacht guards assigned to stop him from running off. "So. Two of you? That makes me feel loved." The guards stared blankly back at the colonel. "Ahem. Okaaay. Can you tell me where we're going?" His query was answered with silence. Hogan repeated the question in German.

"We were given strict orders not to speak with you," said one of the guards. "Besides, only the drivers know."

"Great. Just great." Hogan leaned his head back and closed his eyes, all the while paying close attention to turns and directions. They began to head south.

It took Boswell and Garrett twelve hours to reach their safe house. Not only did neither of them win their friendly wager, but they were tired, hungry, stiff and ornery. In addition, they had to deal with several close calls, namely Allied bombers, who were inconveniently attacking sites nearby, and chose to ignore the Red Cross painted on their trucks. They pulled up outside the barn, opened the doors, and as they had prearranged, hid the truck inside. They then walked over to the house, and knocked.

"Yes, what do you want?" The farmer who answered the door, asked the two agents.

"We were told you rented rooms to boarders from Switzerland," Boswell answered.

"No," the farmer replied. "Only to loyal Germans. Unless you're willing to pay…"

"We only have Swiss money." Boswell removed his wallet. The farmer glanced at the leather, which had a conspicuous stain near the fold.

"Come in. Johann Merkel," he said.

"Call us, Rolf and Friedrich." Boswell held out his hand.

"Come in."

Boswell and Garrett followed Merkel inside the small stone house. There were no signs of any other inhabitants, as they followed the farmer down a hall and into a kitchen.

"So, Rolf and Friedrich, what brings you this far southwest?" Merkel poured some tea, and passed over a plate of bread.

"We're stopping a prisoner swap," Garrett explained as he took a bite.

Johann raised his eyebrows. "Now, why would you need to do that? No don't tell me. How?"

"Not a clue, really," Garrett joked. "Were about one day ahead. They're due around here ten hours from now. Coming from a camp near Dusseldorf. The swap is at the border crossing near Konstanz." (1)

Johann got up and pulled a map out of a drawer. "They all have to come down this way. The other routes are damaged. There are five checkpoints between here and there." He circled areas on the map.

"Well, the first thing we need to figure out is this," Boswell said. "We can ambush the truck, and take it from there, and try to stop this thing of the border."

"Plus," Garrett reminded him, "We need to get the general."

"The general?" Merkel raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah. It's a twofer, "Boswell grumbled. "Might as well recapture the general while we're at it."

"And make the Germans look responsible," Garrett added as he wolfed down another piece of bread. "Don't forget that."

"You're nuts." Merkel rose, walked over to the counter and cut more bread. He placed several slices on a plate and put it back in front of his hungry guests. "I suppose you'll need help." Anticipating the answer, he poured himself a large glass of wine.

"We weren't asking for it," Boswell replied, "but if you're offering…" At that exact moment, an air raid siren could be heard in the distance.

"Don't worry," Merkel reassured the two agents. "They won't bomb here. Or at least they shouldn't. They're going after the rail lines. Unless somehow they go off course." He grinned at his guests and took a large drink of wine. More sirens went off and the drone of aircraft could now be heard.

"I'll, uh, take a refill of that, if you don't mind." Garrett held out his glass.

"I'll second that," his partner said.

"That's why we didn't take the train down here," Boswell said seriously a few moments later. He had to speak louder to be heard over the racket. His host didn't seem perturbed, and after a few more glasses of wine, neither did Boswell or Garrett. "And that's probably why they didn't use the train to bring Hogan down."

"Trains carrying Allied POW's have been hit a lot." Merkel shook his head. "The Germans have been taking them all over the place. Marching them here. Transporting them there. Not good. I wonder why they didn't use a plane?"

"There's almost no Luftwaffe left, and they need what's available for defense, I suppose." Garrett turned to Merkel. "How many men do you have?"

Frustrated by their inability to help the colonel surreptitiously find out where he was being taken, his men sulked and plotted, notified the rest of the camp, and moved Captain Mitchell into Hogan's office.

Coincidentally, the same day Hogan was removed from camp, the radio detector trucks in the perimeter and town disappeared. At 1:02 that afternoon, the men were notified by Schnitzer. At 1:04, they were on the radio.

Most of the barrack's residents surrounded Kinch as he sent London the bad news. "Stop crowding around me," he complained as he waited for a reply.

"Give him some air, "Mitchell ordered and the men stepped aside. A few moments later, a long message came through.

Kinch took more than a few agonizing moments to decode it, grinned, and handed it to Mitchell.

"You're smiling," Carter noted as he gave LeBeau a poke. "What is it?"

"Hang on," their new C.O. said. He quickly glanced at the paper. "Good news! Colonel Hogan is being swapped."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, why didn't Klink tell him that? The guv'nor is probably wondering if he's going to end up someplace worse!"

Mitchell shrugged. "Newkirk, I have no clue. I don't know how Klink thinks."

"He can think?"

The men, now more relaxed, broke out in laughter.

"So that's it then." Olsen said. "He'll be gone, but safe."

"No. Not totally. There's more to this. The swap is being stopped." If Mitchell was surprised or distressed, he didn't show it. In the short time he had been in Stalag 13, nothing surprised him.

Now the rest of the men were confused.

"Now that we have the radio again, they'll be in contract. They didn't go into details, but said, they want Colonel Hogan back, and the general as well; if it's possible. More to follow."

"He's being swapped for a general," Carter exclaimed. "Whoa!"

"Impressive," LeBeau nodded.

"Ego boost," someone else said.

"Now what?" Kinch looked at Mitchell.

"Well, that's your department. Stand by and wait. He looked at his watch. "I have to meet with Klink soon. We'll continue to run the camp like the colonel ordered. Don't forget about the the guys waiting for the sub."

Captain Mitchell chided himself for not remembering his gloves, as he walked across the compound. "Geez, it's freezing," he complained to himself. Stalag 13 was actually a Stalag Luft, and although the majority of the camp consisted of non-coms and enlisted men, there were officers scattered throughout the barracks. After a major had been transferred out after a brief stay, Mitchell had become the second highest ranking officer, a job he took quite seriously. He had been in the camp now for just over a year. After he was shot down, Hogan and his men were able to switch his plane's top secret directional finder with a phony version. Amazed at the ingenuity of the operation, Mitchell offered his services to Hogan, who denied his request. But, he was tapped to help run the actual camp, and handle POW matters in case something happened to the colonel. After some time in solitary, and questioning by officers brought in from an interrogation center, Mitchell was released into the prison population, where he found to his astonishment a camp that was not segregated by nationality, and where officers shared barracks with enlisted personnel. He quickly learned that Hogan, not Klink, really ran the camp, and that every prisoner was in constant danger.

Mitchell was, of course, now relieved that Hogan's life did not appear to be at risk. As he headed into Klink's outer office, however, something occurred to him. "Oh, shit," he muttered. But his concern would have to wait.

"Excuse me, Captain." Fraulein Hilda looked like she had been crying.

"I'm sorry, Fraulein." Mitchell gulped.

"You can go right in, Captain."

Mitchell opened the door. "Reporting as ordered, sir." He saluted.

"Captain Mitchell. Please have a seat." Klink pointed to a chair.

Mitchell removed his cap and sat down.

"You are now the acting Senior POW officer in this camp, Captain. Have you moved into Barracks Two?"

"Yes, sir. We're packing Colonel Hogan's personal belongings, sir. Um. Where will they be sent?" He asked innocently.

"That is not your concern right now," Klink snapped back.

That irked Mitchell. Obviously, Klink didn't know that they knew what he knew, but… "With all due respect, Kommandant, Colonel Hogan's welfare is our concern. You see, he was well-respected, and a good commanding officer. The men…their morale is not too good at the moment."

Klink looked down at his desk and glanced at Mitchell's prisoner record. He felt for the man, but he still recalled General Burkhalter's stern warning.

"Colonel Hogan is not in any danger," he tried to reassure the captain. "When he gets to where he is going, I will inform you."

Hoping that Hogan had been told, and for some reason, didn't want his men to know, Mitchell pressed Klink.

"So he knows here he is heading, sir?"

"No," Klink answered, giving Mitchell a guilty look.

_Crap_, Mitchell thought.

The same thought that had occurred to Mitchell as he was heading into Klink's office, had also occurred to the men in Barracks two, at about the same time. In fact, it was Newkirk who broke the revelry that had broken out when they heard of the prisoner swap.

"We could have a slight problem," he announced.

"Whatcha talking about?" Carter asked.

"Well, what do you think the guv'nor would do if he didn't know where he was being sent, or if he figured he was going to another camp; or someplace worse?"

"He'd try to get off that truck," Olsen pointed out.

"Hey, with two guards, two drivers, handcuffs and a K on his jacket! Come on," Kinch argued. "Even he's not that good."

"Let's just suppose he could get out of the cuffs," Newkirk countered.

"Well, that would increase his odds. But," LeBeau pointed out, "How would he do that?"

"I slipped him a lock pick," Newkirk explained. "Just before he left the barracks."

Everyone glared at the corporal.

"I thought I was doing him a favor."

"You did the right thing, Newkirk," Kinch said just loud enough for everyone to hear. "You didn't know. I just hope those guards are on the ball."

(1) Because it practically lies within Switzerland, directly adjacent to the Swiss border, Konstanz was not bombed by the Allied Forces during World War II. The city left all its lights on at night, and thus fooled the bombers into thinking it was actually Switzerland. Wikipedia


	4. Chapter 4

_It's been a while, so here is a quick recap. General Burkhalter has ordered that Colonel Hogan be swapped for one of their captured generals. Obviously, London would prefer that Hogan remain at Stalag 13, and they order OSS agents, Boswell and Garrett, to stop the swap. Unfortunately, due to radio silence, the message doesn't get to Hogan and his men, and he is sent away, without knowing his destination. You see, Burkhalter holds a grudge for being embarrassed by Hogan during the Norden Bombsight incident, and orders Klink not to tell! Hogan is on the truck, contemplating using the lock pick that Newkirk slipped to him. Boswell and Garrett are in position. And the men at camp are concerned that the colonel may try to get away, which is of course, extremely dangerous._

_Chapter 4_

His hands cuffed in front of him, Hogan pondered what he would do if he was fortunate enough to open the cuffs with the lock pick. He'd have to overpower the guards without attracting the attention of the two men up front, get out the back, somehow steal clothes, and try to get to Allied lines. Attempting an escape while at a pit stop was pushing it. Fighting two men was bad enough. Four were insane. The guards did not appear to be stupid; covering him appropriately both on the truck and off.

Hogan eliminated possible destinations as the truck drove further south. Colditz was out; that was to the northeast. Berlin, also to the east, was out. He was grateful for that. Most of the camps designated for airmen were also to the east, in fact. Dulag Luft was a possibility. Perhaps he was heading there first and then transferred. No. That was ridiculous. And why wouldn't Klink tell him where he was going? Probably, Hogan mused, because either Klink didn't know, or the most likely reason, the intended destination was not very pleasant. Hogan tried to expunge those thoughts from his mind.

The truck ground to a quick halt, almost knocking both Hogan and his guards off the benches. It then slowly backed up and drove around debris or a crater. Hogan looked at his watch. They had now been on the road for five hours. He had counted 12 checkpoints and several short detours. They had made several pit stops and he had been given a few slices of bread and some water. Of course, he realized, the two young guards were suffering along with him...although, they had the use of their hands and their weapons, and conversation to keep them company. He was hoping one of them would doze off, so he could make a move. He had heard that they would be stopping somewhere overnight, and that he would be placed in temporary custody. That was another option for escape. A patient man, Hogan decided to wait for opportunity to knock.

* * *

After several hours, Boswell and Garrett developed a strategy. To locate their target, they would pose as SS officers checking all vehicles passing through several fake checkpoints. They would capture, or if necessary, kill the guards, and then bring Hogan up to date. Their next step would be to have Merkel pose as a Swiss diplomat being held hostage. Their plan was to exchange him for the general and then take off.

"It's brilliant," Garrett argued to the not so convinced underground member. "See. The SS gets blamed. How perfect is that?"

"I think this is nuts," Merkel complained. "It's too risky. Why don't they just let the swap take place? It seems reasonable. You guys…" He pointed to Boswell and Garrett. "Get this colonel. What's his name?"

"Hogan."

"Hogan. You get him back. He goes home or wherever. And the Nazis get back this good for nothing general. I say, the Allies get the best of the bargain." He stared at the two spies, daring them to question his reasoning.

"We can't tell you why we need to do this," Boswell told Merkel. "It's classified. Although, you did make a good point."

"You know this Hogan? What he looks like?"

"Yeah," Garrett sighed. "Late thirties, dark hair, about my height."

"So what if the Swiss or the Americans decide to start shooting?" Merkel asked.

"The Americans won't. They've been briefed, and I don't think the Swiss will start an incident and risk killing one of their own men. Besides, we'll threaten Hogan as well, and the Americans will put on a good show of panic at that."

"Don't forget Hogan should know the score," Boswell reminded Garrett.

"Hopefully."

"I'll bet he's pissed he's not going home," Merkel pointed out.

"Yeah, well, orders are orders," Garrett answered. "So, again, what do you think?"

"Could work," Merkel agreed. "But we'll have to stop a lot of trucks. And make sure that they aren't following each other too closely."

"That's where you and your men come in. We have walkie- talkies. Two checkpoints, any regular vehicles and trucks go through. When Hogan's truck hits the first detour, you'll have to delay it so there's a good distance between that and any other vehicles. We'll make sure our end is clear. You'll also give us guard strength, etcetera." Garrett waited for Merkel's approval.

Merkel nodded. "I can supply two men for the first detour and a group for the ambush. And who will play the Swiss hostage?"

Garrett smiled. "You!' He laughed. "We know you have the papers."

Merkel grinned. "I like a challenge. So, I'm released to the Americans."

"Yes. They and their Swiss contacts can get you back over the border."

At that moment, Garrett snapped his fingers. "Wonder if the radio silence has been lifted?"

"Radio silence? With your people?"

"Sort of," Boswell answered. 'We should let our control know we made it this far."

"If you don't mind, Merkel, we'll be heading back to our truck." Garrett stood up and stretched, while Boswell followed.

"I'll start arranging for back-up," Merkel said. "When you're ready to turn in, just lock the door."

Boswell and Garrett's handlers responded when the call came in. "We have reports from Special Ops that the truck left Stalag 13 at 0800. You'll have enough time to put your plan into motion."

"Roger that," Boswell responded. He returned the radio to the hiding place underneath the floorboards, and along with Garrett, returned to the house to get some sleep.

* * *

"We could have a problem," Mitchell reported as he walked through the door of Barracks two. He closed it shut, and took off his coat. Noticing that half the barracks was empty, he asked, "Where is everybody?"

"Below. On the radio," Mills reported. He hopped down from the bunk. "What problem is that, Captain?"

"Klink confirmed that Colonel Hogan wasn't told where he was going."

"Well, sir. I'll take that problem and raise you."

Mitchell sighed. "Go on."

"Newkirk slipped Colonel Hogan a lock pick." Mills went over to Kinch's bunk and set off the mechanism.

"Oh, man." Mitchell looked down at the floor and massaged his temple. "I'm getting a headache."

"That's funny," Mills replied. "The colonel used to say that…let's see…almost daily. After you, Captain?" Mills gestured to the ladder.

Mitchell flew down the ladder and hurried over to the radio, in time to see Kinch impatiently drumming his fingers on the table.

"Captain," Newkirk said morosely.

"I heard Newkirk. It wasn't your fault." Mitchell gave Newkirk a friendly pat on the back.

"I still think it would be suicidal for the colonel to even try to get away," Olsen explained to Mitchell. "Unless he's Houdini, he probably won't get loose until he's out of our area of operations. And then he'll be in unfamiliar territory."

"No contacts." LeBeau added.

"No papers, no German uniform," Carter chimed in.

"Maybe he won't be able to pick the lock." Newkirk sighed.

"Don't forget he has to take out the guards," another prisoner added.

"I give him six hours," Kinch said under his breath.

"Nah." Saunders shook his head. "Less."

"More," Olsen countered. "He's got the guards, _and _the drivers."

"You're on." Saunders replied. He and Olsen, ready to start a betting pool, began to open their wallets.

"Knock it off." Mitchell's terse words silenced the crowd.

"Well?" He asked Kinch.

"They're getting someone. I've been waiting for twenty minutes."

"You're kidding." Mitchell was now exasperated.

"Get used to it, sir. When they want something…say…blow up this, get those plans, then they're willing to talk…Hang on."

"Papa Bear, this is Goldilocks."

Kinch looked up at Mitchell.

"Go on, Kinch, you take it," he said.

"London, Papa Bear doesn't know he's being sprung."

"Come again?"

"He wasn't told where he was going," Kinch said very slowly.

_Silence_

"Is this a problem?"

"We believe there is a good bet, he may try to, um…escape, sir."

"That won't do. You see, Sergeant, the swap needs to be stopped with him in it. And we'd like the general back if it's not too much trouble. Oh, and Colonel Hogan could get himself killed or recaptured. Terribly inconvenient."

"I'm going to develop an ulcer." Mitchell walked away, composed himself, and then walked back.

"May I?" He looked at Kinch.

"Be my guest." Kinch stood up and gave Mitchell his seat.

"London? This is Captain Mitchell. Normally I don't get involved in these things, but since I'm now the acting C.O., I really insist you try to do something."

"We'll try and contact our agents and inform them of this situation. Give them a heads up. That's the best we can do and no guarantee we'll reach them. If you have any plans of your own, go ahead and make them, but don't jeopardize the camp or the operation.

Mitchell slowly put down the microphone; then pinched the bridge of his nose. He picked up the mike. "London, can you give us any more information. Route, pickup time and place."

"Yes. The pickup is scheduled at the border crossing in Konstanz tomorrow at 0900."

"Thanks, London. Stalag 13 out." Mitchell handed the microphone over to Kinch. "Start praying," he told the men.

Newkirk stepped forward. "I'm willing to try and go after him, Captain."

"Same here, sir." Carter also stepped forward. Every other man followed.

Mitchell pondered their offer for a few moments and then made a decision. "I appreciate your offer, but at this point, we don't even know if Hogan will get loose. Besides, he's liable to talk the guards or drivers into blabbing. At any rate, trying to catch up to the truck would be too difficult…and then if he did get away, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack." The men looked disappointed, but Mitchell was confident he had made the correct decision. Seeing their faces, he reassured them. "Look, if anything changes, we'll revisit this conversation. One last thing. I want 24 hour surveillance on Klink's phones and his office bug. Just in case."

The men scattered, leaving Mitchell alone with Kinch, and marveling at how the sergeant kept his even and composed temperament. _Of all the camps to end up in_, he thought.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" the radioman asked his new commanding officer.

"Yeah. A scotch, and some aspirin."

Kinch chuckled. "Colonel Hogan has some aspirin in his footlocker. And if you want, I can show you his secret stash of scotch."

"You're joking. I was only kidding about the scotch." Mitchell grabbed a chair and sat down.

"We don't joke about scotch, sir," Kinch replied with a straight face. "It came to us via a grateful defector. He had to go through hoops to get London to send it with a drop."

"The scotch will be there for when the colonel comes back. So. Kinch. What else do I need to know?"

"How long do you have, Captain?" Kinch replied.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

_a/n: I am using the equivalent American ranks for all Germans in this chapter. _

Due to heavy traffic, there was no appropriate time for Hogan to make a move before the truck stopped for the night at a small-town police station. Rather than get run over or recaptured, he decided to see what the conditions were after they left the following morning. He didn't recognize the name of the town, which was etched above the front door. There were signs of bomb damage, but for the most part, the area appeared to be untouched. It was dark, so he could not absorb any other useful information. Before he was securely deposited in a small jail cell for the evening, the guards removed his handcuffs, and made Hogan comfortable, serving him a small meal at night and a quick breakfast. The two drivers and the two guards, continued to give the colonel the silent treatment, while they watched over him in shifts.

When Hogan's trip resumed at 0500 the following morning he perched himself on a bench that he figured would hold his six foot frame if he lay down in a fetal position. But, in order to work with the handcuffs, he'd have to face away from the guards. He began to slowly stand up, bracing himself against the tarp covering the back of the truck.

One of the guards noticed.

"Sit down, sir," one ordered.

"Sorry," Hogan replied. "My leg fell asleep. " He started to rub his left thigh. "I'd like to lie down, okay? I'm getting a little motion sick." The ride was bumpy, so the guards nodded.

Hogan maneuvered himself onto the bench and faced the wall. He lay still, counting off minutes. After about ten went by, he started to softly snore. Several minutes after that, he began his attempt to unlock the cuffs.

"Damn it," he cursed silently, as he got nowhere. But Hogan was a patient man who didn't give up, and so he persevered as the truck continued its drive south.

* * *

Boswell and Garrett reported into headquarters that morning that their plan was in motion. Together with Merkel, they rounded up Merkel's men and began to set up the fake checkpoints. The first was set up along the only passable route. Approximately several kilometers south, Boswell and Garrett waited at the second checkpoint, while Merkel's men hid in the trees at both sides of the road. Armed and ready when notified by the first checkpoint that the truck carrying Hogan had been stopped, they would clear the traffic, and then signal for Hogan's truck to stop. When it arrived, they would make their move.

"Another one? Damn checkpoints." The driver shifted gears and brought the truck to a halt. "No wonder this war is taking too long. They're too busy stopping people with places to go."

"Kurt, it's SS." Hans, the other driver, pointed to the two men approaching the truck. Both drivers, like many in the German army, hated and feared the SS. They just never had the guts to admit it to anyone else.

"Your papers." Boswell glared at the driver.

Without a word, Kurt handed over his orders.

"We have been expecting you," Boswell said coldly. "Please step out."

The two drivers, exchanging nervous looks, complied.

"So, you are carrying a prisoner to the border?" Garrett, who had mysteriously appeared next to his partner, asked in a condescending tone.

"Yes, sir. For a swap, sir." Kurt, having nothing more to add, pointed to the back of the truck.

"Well, we'll just check on the prisoner and then you can continue."

The four walked around to the back of the truck. Kurt pulled back the burlap and stood dumbfounded at the sight.

"The prisoner…he's…he's…gone," he stammered.

"What?" Boswell yelled, while Garrett motioned to the men hiding in the woods to stay put.

The four now clambered onto the back of the truck and found two unconscious guards. Both were gagged, bound at the ankles, with their hands cuffed behind them. One of the guards had been stripped down to his underwear. Hogan's jacket, shirt and pants, had been flung on the bench. One rifle was missing.

"Shit!" Garrett said, fortunately not in range of the guard's hearing.

Boswell had the presence of mind to speak in character, as he removed the gags. "Where is the prisoner?" he demanded, giving the two guards a menacing look.

"Mmm?" One guard, then the other, began to stir. Seeing an SS officer in front of him, the undressed guard attempted to stand and tumbled over. Boswell untied the man's ankles and pulled the terrified man to his feet.

Meanwhile, the two drivers were on their hands and knees, trying to locate the keys to the handcuffs.

"How…did…this…happen?" Boswell snarled menacingly.

"Well, sir, he was asleep."

"Yes, sir. He was snoring," the other guard interrupted.

"Snoring?" one of the drivers asked. "He was asleep sitting up?"

"No," the younger guard, the one with clothes, replied. "He said he was motion sick and wished to lie down." Seeing the look on Garrett's face, the guard shut his mouth.

"Motion sick." Garrett started to laugh. He slapped Boswell on the back and his partner began to laugh as well. The drivers, and the guards, relaxing a bit, grinned and chuckled.

"You knucklehead!" Garrett screamed. "Motion sick? He was a combat pilot!"

"Found them!" Kurt triumphantly held up the keys. He pulled himself up and unlocked the two sets of handcuffs.

Boswell began to take control. "Never mind what happened. Everyone out. We have to go look for him. This is a very important prisoner, who is supposed to be swapped for a very important general."

"So that's where we were going. It would have helped if we had known." Kurt glared at the drivers. "The prisoner didn't know where he was going, sirs." The guard then told Boswell and Garrett.

"Well that would explain why he took off," Garrett commented. "On whose orders?" He then asked the driver.

"General Burkhalter," Kurt replied.

"We have to move." Boswell pointed to the guard in his underwear. "Find something to cover yourself." The other guard found a blanket and tossed it to the other.

"Should we call for reinforcements?" Kurt asked.

"No," both Boswell and Garrett said in unison.

"We'll call." Garrett continued. "We'll find him. He couldn't have gone far." He jumped down and ran over to their car.

* * *

"The package is lost," a thoroughly disgusted Garrett told the person at the other end of the radio they had hidden in the floorboards.

There was silence and then a cough. "_Repeat message, red one. Did you say lost as in destroyed? Over."_

"No, lost as in package sprouted wings and sometime between Point A and B, disappeared, as in took a hike."

"_Now, why would the package not wait for pick-up?"_

"I don't know," Garrett growled. "Not enough postage."

"_Ha, ha,"_said the disembodied voice on the other end.

Garrett sighed. "Seems the package was unaware of where it was being sent."

_"Ah, yes. One moment….confirm that. But package's home office was told of the situation."_

"Bit late."

"_Communication lines were broken, red one."_

"Yeah, we know. Any idea of where this package might end up?"

"_No, sorry. Package is out of home territory. Try to locate. We can delay the swap a few hours. But don't risk yourselves. If necessary, abort."_

"Roger that." Garrett signed off and started to bang his head against the steering wheel before returning to the truck.

"How long after the last checkpoint was it after he attacked you two?" Boswell asked.

"A kilometer maybe," the guard fortunate enough to have his clothes, answered. "No more than 20 minutes."

"Spread out. He'll head west or south and look for a place to hide until after dark. "What's your rank?" Boswell then asked the other guard.

"Corporal," the guard said quietly, now figuring that after this he'd either be a private or deceased.

"You don't kill him. You don't shoot him. If he so much as gets a sprained ankle, you are all dead," Garrett threatened all four men.

"But he's got…"

"In the truck," Garrett interrupted. "We'll head back to the last checkpoint and see if we can find tracks. You three start searching around here."

"I'll contact Merkel and his men from the last checkpoint. They can start looking up there," Boswell whispered to Garrett before he jumped off the back.

As Boswell and Garrett were preoccupied, the two drivers of the truck pulled off to the side of the road to let a convoy pass. They were combing the ground for signs of Hogan, when an officer yelled over to them.

"What are you doing? Can't you see we are retreating! Get your asses back into the truck and move!"

Kurt ran over to the officer's jeep, and saluted. Forgetting Boswell and Garrett's orders not to call for reinforcements, he said, "Captain. We are looking for an important POW that escaped. Can you help us?"

"I don't have the men to spare to search for a POW."

Kurt glanced around the jeep. The convoy behind it seemed to stretch for miles.

"But sir. He's important. The colonel is being switched for one of our generals and he's now wearing one of our uniforms and he could be shot if he's caught, and the SS said we could be shot…"

"SS?"

"Yes they want him back without a scratch."

"Not our problem."

"But sir, General Burkhalter…"

"Who is General Burkhalter?" the officer asked Kurt.

"He arranged this. He's in charge of a lot of POW camps. If he finds out that we lost Colonel Hogan…"

"Well, then. You'd better start looking real hard. You hear that artillery?"

Kurt paused and listened to the pounding in the distance. He nodded.

"I'd hurry if I were you."

Kurt watched the convoy drive away, turn and head east. He then sullenly walked back to his truck. "We're doomed," he told Hans, the other driver.

Several minutes later, the captain at the head of the convoy thought about his conversation with the driver._ Colonel Hogan…General Burkhalter. If Burkhalter finds out that I didn't tell him the situation, I could be in trouble_. He ordered his driver to pull off. "Sergeant, get on the radio and try to reach this general."

* * *

"If I'm a pain in the neck colonel, where would I be?" Boswell said to himself as he checked off grids on a map. "Ah, Merkel." The underground sympathizer, trailed by 10 men, had appeared at Boswell's side.

"I have, a…what's the word? In the cowboy movies?"

"Posse."

"Yes, that's it. These men will search for you. No questions asked, for a small amount of compensation."

"I see. What do they want?" Boswell pulled out a wad of cash. "Dollars, pounds, francs, marks?"

Merkel walked over to the men and spoke with them for several seconds.

"Dollars," he told Boswell when he returned. "They know which way the wind is blowing."

"Here." Boswell handed over a portion. "Whoever finds him and brings him back unharmed, gets a bonus."

The men turned to leave.

"Hold on," Boswell stopped them. "He's armed and he will shoot. If you suspect you've found him, try to keep him in one place until we get there." He then meandered over to the car. "I was thinking. If you were Hogan, what would you do?" he asked Garrett.

"Not do the obvious," Garrett stated.

"Right." Boswell replied. "That is heading west or south. He's probably hiding somewhere real close. Let's grab the guard and backtrack." He headed towards the car. "Merkel's men are searching."

"Good." Garrett hid the radio and put in the car in gear. "There he is." He pointed to the guard standing forlornly by the side of the road. He was wrapped in a blanket with his long underwear poking out underneath.

"You!" Garrett yelled. "In here," he demanded.

The guard, hoping for a working heater, and still terrified, hustled over.

"You think you can find where the prisoner jumped you?" Boswell asked.

"It was right after a curve."

"Get in the back," Boswell ordered.

The car blew past traffic heading in the opposite direction. Their horn blaring and swerving past troops; they quickly passed the other three guards looking at the side of the road, with Merkel's men searching further in.

They stopped. Boswell turned to the back. "This it?"

"I don't know sir. We couldn't see, of course."

"Well there's a curve. Stay in the car." Garrett said as he opened the door. Boswell followed.

"Pick a side." He pulled out his pistol and looked west. "No tracks."

"He would have covered them." Garrett crouched down and examined the snow for signs of any disruption. "Nothing." The two continued to look for some time. After about half an hour, they gave up and headed a bit further north, to another curve in the road, where they repeated the process.

* * *

It takes courage to jump out of an airplane, even with a parachute, and Hogan was nothing, if not courageous. But leaping out of a moving truck, dressed in a German uniform that was too large, a top coat, and carrying a rifle, was, as they say, a horse of a different color. Hogan, had, to his surprise, easily dispatched the two guards, by stumbling over to their bench, and pretending to be sick. He deftly clobbered guard one with a karate chop, grabbed his rifle, and turned it on the other guard. Within minutes, they were incapacitated and Hogan stood at the back of the truck, staring at the ground underneath moving past him in a blur. Fortunately, no one was in sight. He had heard constant traffic since they had left the jail that morning, but now, surprisingly, there was a lull. As he contemplated the angles and his form for several agonizing seconds, he said to no one in particular, "drop and roll," and then jumped.

Hogan had the wind knocked out of him as he landed. He rolled several yards and attempted to catch his breath. "I'm too old for this," he muttered, as he began to assess himself for injury. "Looks easier in the movies," he groaned. A sharp pain in his shoulder made Hogan see stars as he rolled over and attempted to stand up. "Wonderful." The shock of the fall was wearing off; as his body began hurting in places he didn't know he had. Crawling over to the side of the road, he hit the snow, where he slowly began to cover his tracks as he moved, Hogan found a bed of leaves covered with snow hidden amongst some trees.. He propped himself up and built himself a small den of leaves and brush in which to hide.

Guessing the Germans' assumption would be that he would head west towards Allied lines; Hogan figured for now, that staying put was a safer option. "Let's see what secrets are hidden in these threads." Hogan removed the guard's ID. "Hermann Steiger, corporal, age 27. Don't look a thing like him." He put down the ID. "Any money?" The guard's wallet held several family pictures and some marks. He put the marks in his back pocket, while the pictures went back in the wallet. Hogan found some matches in a front pocket, which he kept, and a roll. Hogan sniffed the roll, and then tore pieces off. He kept half; then put the rest back in a pocket. Rations had been severely cut back at camp and he had lost about 15 pounds. Any food, no matter how unpalatable, was to be eaten. He swallowed the last bite of the roll, took a drink from the water canteen and waited.

An hour later, Hogan spotted a staff car and the two SS men who exited. He thought he could see the guard seated in the back of the car. Hunkering further down in the snow, rifle at the ready, he tried not to breathe.

"Colonel Hogan!" Garrett shouted. "Throw the rifle down and come out with your hands up. You have my word you won't get hurt."

_Yea, right._ Hogan thought to himself. _Where have I heard that one?_ Rumors were the SS were already evacuating camps out east and sending hundreds, if not thousands, of malnourished POWs west on a forced march. More horrible rumors of death camps run by the SS had also cropped up. He didn't want to take any chances.

"I'll repeat. Come out. You can't get far. You'll freeze to death."

The voice, which to Hogan sounded strangely familiar despite the German accent, drew closer.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

"Captain Mitchell." Kinch tapped on the door.

"Come."

"Message, sir."

"Judging by the look on your face, it's not good news."

"No, sir." Kinch sighed. "Seems Colonel Hogan knocked out the two guards, stole a uniform and rifle, and escaped, all without the drivers knowing. The agents and their men are looking for him."

"Great. Just great." Mitchell took a swig of coffee and then headed for the door. "Anyone else know?"

"No. Most of the men are out on a work detail and the rest are getting Matlack and McDowell ready for their rendezvous with the Underground. It's in a half an hour."

"Call a staff meeting. Have everyone here as soon as McDowell and Matlack are set, and then meet me in the radio room."

"Yes sir."

000hhh000

"Well, on the bright side," Newkirk quipped an hour later, "my lessons on lock picking really paid off."

"Yeah, the colonel gets an A plus," Carter sniffed. "I'm still willing to go out after him, Captain."

"No. It's too far. A twelve hour trip at least. Plus all the other problems. Bombs, strafing. And it's not familiar territory is it?"

"No, sir," Carter replied. "But we have to do something."

"Look," Mitchell said. "He's resourceful. He speaks fluent German. He's in a German uniform."

"Maybe he'll get drafted into a platoon like Carter did." Olsen laughed.

"You did what?"

"I was in two armies at once. It's a long story. It happened before you got here."

"He got promoted, too," Newkirk said proudly.

"Crazy.' Mitchell shook his head. "Just to let you all know; Kinch and I have already spoken to London. Some of their best people are looking for him."

"The ones' supposed to stop the swap?" LeBeau asked.

"Yes and London is also sending out a message down the line to Underground units in the area, plus coded announcements with instructions over the BBC. Whether he'll hear them…well that's out of our hands, I'm afraid. Meanwhile…I know you're upset and worried, but we have a camp and operation to run. So, any questions? No? dismissed."

"This sucks," Carter said to Newkirk as they hustled across the compound on their way to the other side of camp, where barracks for an expected onslaught of new arrivals were being prepared.

"No, what sucks is this bloody war. I've been here so long; I don't remember what real living is like." Newkirk kicked at a patch of snow in frustration. "Thought we'd be out of here by last Christmas."

"Yeah, well, Hitler is crazy. His generals are crazy. This whole country is crazy."

000hhh000

"Klink! You idiot!"

The general's voice was so loud that the Kommandant dropped the phone and his monocle. He replaced it; then gently picked up the phone. "Good morning, General Burkhalter, what a nice surprise. Whatever it is, I didn't do it."

"You did do it. Klink! You did it because I told you not to do it, and because I told you not to do it and you did as you were told, instead of being an idiot like you usually are, and not doing it… he did it."

"Excuse me, General, but you just called me an idiot, even though you said I wasn't an idiot, because I did as I was told, and who's he and what did he do? Sir!

"I'll start from the beginning. You had Hogan put on the truck yesterday?"

"Yes, sir. Handcuffed, uniform painted, just like you ordered." At the mention of Hogan, Klink's stomach began to flip flop and he reached for the antacids he always kept in his top right drawer.

"And then what, Klink?"

"Well the truck left. Oh, and the drivers checked in last night around 1800 hours. They got permission to stop. Hold on." Klink checked the papers on his desk. "Yes, he was held overnight in the jail, and they left at 0500."

"You didn't tell Hogan he was being swapped, did you?"

"No, sir. I didn't. You said…"

"Never mind what I said. I just received a message from some Captain I never heard of. He ran into the drivers and informed me that Hogan escaped… The one time you didn't have a big mouth and you blew it. Klink, you there?" Burkhalter tapped on the phone.

"What general? Yes, I'm here."_ Hogan how did you manage it? "_Would it help if I said those were your orders and your guards, sir?"

"No! What would help is…if you could get him back."

000hhh000

Despite the men's concern about Hogan's whereabouts, they couldn't help but laugh at Kinch's dead on impression of Klink and Burkhalter's conversation.

"There's no way Klink would ever find him, sir. Besides, they're too far."

"Thanks LeBeau." Mitchell took a sip of coffee. "You know. I have an idea." Mitchell stood up and walked over to the door. "I'm going to see Klink. Listen in," he said before leaving.

"Well. What do you make of that?" Goldman, who had been watching the door, said as he faced his bunkmates.

"Think he can con Klink?" Carter asked Kinch.

"Only one way to find out," he answered. The entire hut then crammed into the office to listen in.

"Herr Kommandant. I'm sorry, but Captain Mitchell is here and he is insisting on seeing you."

"Oh, let him in, Fraulein." Klink waved his hand.

"Yes, what is it, and it better be important. I'm a very busy man," he added, although he clearly didn't look busy.

Mitchell quickly walked over and leaned his hands on the front of the desk.

"It's morale, sir."

"Morale?"

"Yes. We notified all of the barracks that Colonel Hogan was being swapped. The men were almost ready to riot after he left."

"They were?"

"Yes, sir, I quenched it." Mitchell snapped his fingers. "But I assure you. The men won't rest until they're certain Colonel Hogan is safely in Allied hands."

At that, Klink dropped his pencil.

"Are you all right, sir?" Mitchell said with concern. "You don't look well. Should I call for our medic? If I order him to, he'll take a look…"

"No." Klink coughed. "Uh, about Colonel Hogan."

"The swap is done! Oh, thank you, sir." Mitchell smartly saluted. "I'll go pass the word. The men will…"

"Captain. Wait"

Mitchell grinned and turned. He faced Klink. "Yes, sir?" Mitchell's face remained impassive.

"There's a problem. You see Hogan escaped and…"

"Escaped? How could that happen? With two guards and handcuffs? Sir. I can take no responsibility for what the men might do. I'm only one officer. There are hundreds." Mitchell headed for the door. "I have to tell my men." He shook his head. "Oh, and Kommandant. It's been a privilege being your senior POW officer, sir."

"Thank you, Mitchell. Dismissed. Stop right there." Klink got up from his chair and walked over to where Mitchell had again turned. "What do you mean a privilege?"

"Well, since you put Colonel Hogan on the truck without telling him where he was gong, I assumed you would take the blame and…"

Klink nodded. "May I confide in you, Captain?"

"Of course, sir."

"General Burkhalter is blaming me. And it's his entire fault you know. I would have told Colonel Hogan."

"Of course, you would have," Mitchell responded sympathetically.

"I don't normally question orders, but 20-20 is hindsight."

"Uh, I think you mean it the other way around."

"Hindsight is 20-20?"

"That's it. Well, Kommandant. So you are planning on looking for Colonel Hogan?"

"Yes, I am. How did you know?"

"I assume that's why you stopped me. I'll send two of his aides. Newkirk and Carter. Yup. They'll be the best ones to send."

"I can't send prisoners. It's out of the question."

"Why not? You sent Colonel Hogan out more than once to look for those two. Why_ not_ send them? I think they would know how he thinks."

"I can't. Besides, it's down south. He'll be long gone the time they get there."

"Request a plane."

"A plane."

"Sure. You still have some left, don't you?"

"Mitchell, I'm warning you!" Klink wagged his finger.

"Sorry, sir."

"Two prisoners and a plane?"

"Well, obviously you'll need guards, sir. Schultz and how about…who's the guard that went to Paris with Colonel Hogan and LeBeau?"

"Langenscheidt?"

"That's it"

"How did you know about that?"

"They sent me a postcard."

"And who is going to fly this plane?"

"Oh, I'll do it for you."

"Now, that is out of the question. And no, this plan is ridiculous. The prisoners will escape."

"I give you my word that they will not escape, and will do everything they can to find Colonel Hogan and bring him back to camp."

"He's not supposed to come back to camp. He is supposed to be swapped," Klink answered.

000hhh000

General Burkhalter was steaming. He had just finished placing a phone call to the Red Cross and the Swiss, hoping to delay the swap until Hogan could be recaptured. Even after explaining his position with the general staff, his ties to the POW commission, and his generous consumption of Swiss chocolate, he was rebuffed. Two hours maximum, he was told. If the prisoner isn't there, there's no deal. God only knew what the Americans would think or do. Not to mention the general's family. It was at that moment, after he contemplated shooting himself; that the phone rang.

"Put him on," he ordered his aide.

"Klink, what is it?"

"I have a plan," Klink announced in that annoying sing song voice that Burkhalter despised. "To find Hogan."

"Go on." Burkhalter took a swig of the herbal tea his secretary insisted settle stomachs. He spit it out. "Bleech."

"General, are you all right?"

"You have a plan, Klink?"

"Yes, General. I need a plane and pilot, of course."

"Is that all? Anything else, Klink?"

Klink unfortunately didn't get the sarcasm.

"Oh, no. Thank you General. You see, I'll be sending two of Hogan's men along with."

"Klink are you insane!" Burkhalter bellowed so loudly the Kommandant dropped the phone, his pencil and his monocle. He scrambled to find all three.

"General Burkhalter, if somehow I misunderstood your answer."

"Where will I find a free pilot and plane at the moment?"

"Well, sir. With your connections, I thought."

"You obviously thought wrong, Klink," Burkhalter sneered. He then slammed down the phone.

000hhh000

"Good try, sir." Kinch tried to console Mitchell. "Even the colonel didn't bat a thousand."

"He was close, though," Carter rambled. "Come to think of it, Babe Ruth didn't bat a thousand, either."

'Well. I'm out of ideas," Mitchell said.

000hhh000

Hogan, his heart beating heavily, thought he was going crazy. Or maybe it was hypothermia. Despite the strange sense he had that the SS officer was familiar, he was not about to show himself. None of the SS officers he had met at camp had ever endeared themselves to him, so he stayed quiet.

"I know something that might get him out," Garrett pulled out a pair of binoculars and started panning the tree line. "Quiet." He held up his hand, as he spied a few more of Merkel's men coming across the road.

"Nothing that direction," one reported.

"Two guards are headed this way," another man pointed.

"Okay. Head north and keep checking. You said you had a way to smoke him out?" Boswell whispered.

"Yeah." Garrett whispered something in Boswell's ear.

"Go for it, Mitch."

"Colonel Hogan. If you're out there, listen. General Kinchmeyer sent us to find you and bring you back. He says this is all a misunderstanding."

"Who is General Kinchmeyer?" the guard asked the driver accompanying him.

"He must work for the SS. Better not off not knowing him."

"True," the other man agreed. "Hey, you know something? We're really close to the Swiss border. And, we're dead if they don't find him. We are in trouble anyway."

"Are you suggesting deserting? You know how hard it is to get across the border?"

"Did I really hear that?" Hogan was now thinking he was delusional. "No. My mind's gone." They had no contacts this far south. "Come any closer," he said to himself, "And I'm taking you down with me." Ready to put up a fight, he pointed the rifle at one of the men.

"Nothing." Boswell cleared his throat. "One more time and we'll check the other side."

"It's not looking good." Garrett said. "You try."

"Hogan. It's Weis and Schmidt of the SS. Turn yourself in. General Kinchmeyer guarantees your safety." (1)

"Holy…" Hogan almost lost his grip. It couldn't be. He carefully peered up a few inches and gazed at the officers. They were the right height. Now he knew why the voices were familiar. _I must be the luckiest colonel on the face of the earth._

"Hold it!" Boswell spied some movement and held up his hand.

"Don't shoot!" Hogan yelled. "I'm coming out."

Both agents as well as the two guards breathed a sigh of relief. Mertz's men, having lost their bounty, weren't happy, but shrugged it off.

"Throw out your rifle and any other weapons, and then come out with your hands on your head," Boswell ordered.

Out came a rifle, followed by a pocketknife, and a lock pick, and then Hogan, appearing a bit nervous, crawled out of his hole with one hand on top of his head. The other, the one attached to the arm, attached to the injured shoulder, hung loosely at his side. "Hurt my shoulder," he complained.

Boswell walked over to the colonel and whispered. "You have a death wish?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing. I was this close to shooting you or your trusty sidekick. This close." Hogan removed the hand on his head and gestured for emphasis.

Boswell rolled his eyes; then softly said to Hogan, "Play along." Then loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, "You made the right decision, I assure you. Move. Move," he ordered as he pointed the pistol directly at the colonel.

Garrett, already at the car, opened the back door. Hogan was unceremoniously shoved in the back, followed by Boswell. "Watch it," Hogan grimaced in pain. He then noticed the guard seated in the front passenger seat.

"You can have your uniform back," Hogan grumbled. "Wasn't my size."

"Corporal, you're very lucky we retrieved the prisoner." Garrett put the car in gear drove off.

"Yes, sir." The corporal, still shivering from the cold, was outwardly relieved. Inwardly, however, he was still fearful what action these SS men would now take. Perhaps even a report to General Burkhalter was in is future. At that thought, he shuddered.

000hhh000

Boswell and Garrett rendezvoused with the rest of the search party several minutes later. "Everyone out." Garrett turned off the engine, and followed the guard over to the truck. Hogan, still limping, followed. "Well you ignoramuses…" Garrett, clearly enjoying himself, faced the other three guards. "Fortunately for you all and your next of kin, we found the missing prisoner. You." He pointed to the undressed corporal. "Help the colonel into the truck and switch clothes."

"Thanks for the hand." Hogan, still wondering what was going, and relieved to be rescued, did as he was told, and with the help of the guards, changed into his uniform and jumped down. "You four," Garrett continued, "Cannot be trusted to continue on with this mission. We will take the colonel from here."

"But sir, General Burkhalter…"

"Are you questioning the authority of the SS, Sergeant?" Garrett said in a voice so menacing he almost scared Hogan.

"I think I prefer to stay with them," Hogan pointed out helpfully.

Garrett laughed. "I'm sure you would. Take him to the car." He nodded at Boswell.

"Come on, Colonel you have an appointment."

"I do? What's going on here?" Hogan let himself be led away, but didn't speak with Boswell until they were safely in the back seat and the doors were closed. "Okay. Guess I owe you some thanks. London get a hold of you?"

"Later. Wait until we're out of here. Here comes Mitch."

Garrett got into the driver's seat. "Scared the dickens out of them." He turned around. "Hey there, Robert? Miss me?"

"No but I'm glad to see you. I was on the way to god knows where."

"So you jumped," Boswell said.

"Have you ever jumped off a moving vehicle? Don't recommend it."

"You really didn't know?" Boswell offered the colonel a cigarette.

Hogan shook his head. "Know what?"

"You're being swapped."

Hogan stared at Boswell for a moment. " Swapped? No. Klink didn't tell me. In fact he looked pretty upset. I thought at first they were taking me to Berlin; but when they kept heading south, I thought, well never mind. I don't even want to think about it."

"It's true."

"Swapped?" Hogan repeated.

"In fact, we have to be at the border soon." Boswell glanced at his watch. "45 minutes. They're holding things up for you. They're exchanging you for a general."

"You're kidding! For what? A shortstop and a third baseman. What am I? The player to be named later?"

Garrett laughed. "That's a good one, Hogan. Your dossier said you liked baseball." He poked his partner. Maybe that's where we went wrong in his questioning. We should have used baseball analogies." (2)

"Don't even go there," Hogan warned. "I'm dog-tired, hungry and in pain."

"Your shoulder?" Boswell asked. "We're going to a contact's house. You can check it there. It's not far."

"Why bother? I'm being swapped. They'll transfer me to the nearest medical unit, anyway." Hogan stared out the window. He had flown over this area before, but had never seen it from the ground. The terrain was different from the northwest, but signs of war were everywhere. Potholes and debris blocked the road. Now and then he could see dead animals nearby and some destroyed villages in the distance.

"Well. About that. We were sent to stop the swap."

"Come again, Boswell?"

"We were ordered to leave Berlin."

"Good timing, too," Garrett interrupted. "Getting a bit dangerous up there."

"The Russians will probably take Berlin," Hogan added. "Before the United States or England."

"We still have agents up there," Garrett said soberly.

"So you were ordered to stop this?" Hogan asked.

"Yes. You're needed back at Stalag 13, seeing as we're hopefully getting into the home stretch of this nightmare."

"Who started this?"

"The Germans. Did you ever hear of General Steinmetz?"

"Nope," Hogan answered.

"Well," Boswell said. "He was captured two weeks ago. Apparently he's useless, but he has friends in high places and they wanted him back. The Germans offered you, and the Allies couldn't say no."

000hhh000

Mitchell and the men were still down in the radio room, when the phone in Klink's office rang. Kinch picked up the phone tap. "It's Burkhalter again," he mouthed.

_"Klink, I want to hear more of this plan of yours."_

_"You do?"_ Klink replied, surprised.

_"Yes, we're both in trouble if Hogan isn't found. Now, I'm not concerned about you."_

_"No, sir. Of course not."_

_"But I have grown quite fond of my neck. So why would you send two prisoners and a plane to go look for Hogan?"_

_"Why? Because Hogan knew how his prisoners think; and they may know how he thinks." Klink kept quiet about the few times Hogan had led him to escapees, usually those two troublemakers, Newkirk and Carter. "If we send them to the area where he escaped, perhaps they could help track him down," _Klink said hopefully.

_"I'll provide a plane and pilot, Klink. The plane will be marked as a hospital plane. If these two men escape, your guards will be shot, you'll be shot and some of your prisoners will be shot. Do I make myself clear?"_

_"Crystal clear, sir. Thank you sir."_

_"Be at the airfield in one half hour. They have until tomorrow morning to find him."_

_"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."_ The conversation ended.

"Well, I'll be damned." Kinch put the headphones back and shook his head. "It's a go. Burkhalter caved. You two," he pointed to Carter and Newkirk. "Are going on a colonel hunt!"

"Wow," Carter exclaimed. "Maybe we'll see Switzerland."

"Blimey," was all Newklrk had to say.

* * *

(1) Weis and Schmidt were Boswell and Garrett's Gestapo aliases in SNAFU.

(2) Boswell and Garrett, masquerading as Gestapo, interrogated Hogan for a while, in order to find out if he was a traitor to the Allies. While not doing him any physical harm obviously, Hogan wasn't exactly comfortable. See SNAFU and FUBAR.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

"Don't do anything stupid," Mitchell looked at Carter and Newkirk, "Like get killed."

"We'll try not to, sir," Newkirk replied, "Promise."

"No monkey business, you understand?" Klink wagged his finger at Newkirk and Carter, a few minutes later. "All your fellow prisoners are hostages."

"Don't worry, Kommandant. With these two guarding us…" Carter pointed to Schultz and Langenscheidt. "Nothing will happen."

Olsen, who was standing nearby, stifled a laugh.

"Actually, it's because of those two…Never mind," Klink said. "Just get going."

Mitchell walked over to Carter. "You're in charge," he whispered. "We have no way to contact you first, so please be careful."

"Got it, sir."

Schultz and Langenscheidt stepped forward. They stuck Newkirk and Carter in the back seat of a staff car and headed towards the airfield. They weren't one hundred yards from the gate when Schultz spoke.

"You're up to monkey business."

"No we are not," Carter looked and sounded insulted. "We want to find Colonel Hogan as much as you do."

"I don't believe you. Besides…" Schultz pointed. "I don't want to get in a plane with you, you, or you for that matter."

"Why not me?" Langenscheidt asked.

"Because this is trouble. I don't like flying."

"I've never been in an airplane. It could be exciting," Langenscheidt said. "Except for the war and everything."

"You've never flown? Wow. But you're in the Luftwaffe." Carter pointed out.

"Just a guard." Langenscheidt shrugged. "I was deployed by train."

"This is trouble," Schultz warned again.

"You worry too much, Sergeant." Langenscheidt pulled into the airfield, where a small plane marked as a medical evacuation craft was waiting. "They won't let anything bad happen."

"Not a chance." Carter nodded.

"Who is in charge here?" Schultz whined again.

"You are Schultzie." Newkirk patted the sergeant on the shoulder. "Ready?"

"No," Schultz replied. "Such a small plane."

"It's just like the last time," Carter urged Schultz. "C'mon. I'll hold your hand."

"I'm not jumping," Schultz insisted as Carter and Newkirk began to shove his ample frame towards the plane.

"No jumping," Carter said. "Look! Corporal Langenscheidt is already on."

The eager corporal had hopped right in and checked in with the pilot, who addressed his German passengers. "Just so you know, this could get bumpy. We could run into enemy aircraft." He glanced at the two prisoners, who acted as if they didn't understand a word.

Although Langenscheidt knew the two prisoners spoke German, he translated anyway, and then announced that everyone was buckled.

"Here, Schultz, need me to hold that for you?" Newkirk held out his hand to the frightened guard, who promptly handed over his rifle and dug both hands into the jumpseat.

Langenscheidt stared, started to say something, then thought better of it and stayed silent. He began to enjoy the ride and the view. That lasted approximately one-half hour into the flight, when – without warning – the pilot dived beneath some clouds.

"British group ahead! "" he yelled.

Langenscheidt barely hung on to his breakfast, while Schultz squeezed his eyes shut, and hung on for dear life.

Newkirk and Carter were unaffected and exchanged amused glances.

"I thought we had medical markings," Langenscheidt managed to squeak out.

"Can't take any chances," the pilot yelled.

"Karl, you're looking a little green," Carter said sympathetically.

"Yes, sergeant, I know. I'm…"

"Take some deep breaths," Newkirk advised the German corporal.

The plane accelerated and climbed up at a steep angle.

"Can't hold it!" Langenscheidt whined.

Carter grabbed a bag and handed it to the guard.

"Ewww," Carter said a moment later.

"'Ow you doing there, Schultz?"

"Newkirk, I'm dead."

"No you're not." Newkirk slapped the guard on the back. "Fun, ain't it?"

"No," both Langenscheidt and Schultz exclaimed together.

"I shook them!" the pilot yelled.

"They wouldn't have gone after us. Not with the Red Cross on the plane," Newkirk whispered.

"Still, better off not taking any chances," Carter responded.

"True," Newkirk concurred.

Fortunately, the plane made it to a small airfield without further incident. The pilot taxied and parked the plane near the small building that served as the terminal.

"Stay here and wait for us to come back," Schultz told the pilot.

"How long?"

"We have until tomorrow morning," Schultz replied. He then pulled out the passes and orders and walked into the terminal.

"We need transportation," he told the bored sergeant seated at the desk.

"Motor pool is out back." He pointed, and returned to his magazine.

"Thank you." Schultz, followed by the other three travelers, walked around the back.

"We need transportation," he told the corporal, who was in the middle of changing a tire.

"Says who? We're short of vehicles. Everyone is retreating." The corporal didn't look up.

"Geez," Carter said to Newkirk, "You'd think all these motor pool guys came from the same gene pool?"

"Yeah. Nasty and full of it."

"Says General Burkhalter," Schultz answered.

The corporal dropped the jack and banged his head. "Owww! Who's General Burkhalter?" He held out his hand and took the orders.

"He is with the POW commission and he is in charge of district 6. We're from Stalag 13," Schultz replied.

"Isn't Stalag 13 in the 13th district? By Hammelburg?" the corporal asked suspiciously.

"Yes, but that's the other 13. Our 13 is in 6. We're a small cozy Luft Stalag near the other Hammelburg, by Düsseldorf. Don't ask me why we are called 13. I don't know."

"Uh, uh. You can take this jeep. When are you bringing it back?"

"By tomorrow morning."

"Here's the keys." The corporal tossed them over.

The pilot watched his passengers head to the motor pool and drive off in a jeep. He walked around his plane, checking the tires and propellers, and contemplated this mission. He guessed he was lucky. He could be flying combat missions, which, considering the Luftwaffe was basically defeated, was asking for trouble. Or strafing Allied troops, a sport he considered unworthy of true soldiers and pilots. At twenty-five, he had already seen too much. He had grown up with Hitler and had known nothing else but years of war, close calls and rumors of atrocities. The pilot knew his country was on the road to ruin, and that the war was lost. So, he made an executive decision and climbed back into the plane, radioed for clearance, and took off towards Switzerland.

"Hey," Carter said, looking up. "Isn't that our plane?"

000hhh000

Hogan was hustled off to Merkel's home, where he sat patiently with an ice pack on his shoulder, as his host wrapped his swollen ankle.

"This hurt?" Garrett pressed on Hogan's shoulder.

"Ouch! Yes!"

"Here's some aspirin. I don't think it's dislocated." Merkel handed Hogan a glass of water.

"No, it's not dislocated. Been down that road before." Hogan popped the aspirin in his mouth and took a gulp of water. "Thanks."

"How did you dislocate it?" Boswell asked Hogan.

"Bombing mission. We just made it back. I got shot, and then I dislocated the shoulder on the landing."

"So that's how you got your purple heart?" Garrett asked. (1)

Hogan nodded. "Spent several weeks in the hospital. Wasn't too bad after they put me back together. So what now?"

"We have an appointment at the border!" Boswell snapped his fingers. "And I should notify HQ that we found you. They were pretty pissed."

"I'll bet." Hogan bent down and gingerly put on his boot. He grimaced as it passed over the ankle. "It would have been helpful if I had known this was going down."

"Well, we tried to notify the camp," Garrett explained.

"Radio detector trucks. I still don't even know if they have their communications back," Hogan said.

Boswell radioed HQ that the package had been recovered, and plans were moving ahead on schedule. He then asked if HQ could notify Stalag 13 of the circumstances of Hogan's departure, escape and recapture, and then signed off.

"Done. They're passing the information on to your folks and hopefully your men will get the message. They must be going nuts," Boswell told everyone.

000hhh000

"First, he's gone…going God knows where," Mitchell paced across the floor of the common room. "Then he's going home. Then he's supposed to come back." Mitchell crossed the room again, while the residents watched as if they were spectators at a tennis match.

"Then," Mitchell threw up his hands, "He doesn't know where he's going, so he takes a hike." He crossed the room again. "And then he's recovered. But not until I send two of our top operatives out on a wild goose chase with two not so bright guards. He's going to demote me for this."

"I think you're selling Langenscheidt short, sir." Olsen was getting a stiff neck, so he hopped down from his bunk and started to stretch.

"And they don't know he's been found!" Mitchell, ignoring Olsen's comment, looked at Kinch, who had come upstairs to give everyone the news; while two other prisoners went down below to monitor the radio and phone.

"Eventually, Schultz and Langenscheidt will have to call in, and then Klink will tell them to come back – sooner or later," Kinch said.

"That's when and if Klink gets notified."

"I can speed things up on that end, sir," Kinch said, "By making a call."

"Do it," Mitchell ordered. "And pray that Klink can get a hold of our team."

"Allo. Is this Kommandant Klink with Luft Stalag 13?"

"Yes, this is he."

"Ah, good. This is the border crossing by Konstanz, Switzerland, regarding the prisoner swap that is to take place here in a few hours."

_Oh, what now_. "Yes, about that. I'm sorry to…"

"Well, "Kinch interrupted. "I was asked to inform you that the American prisoner that is to be swapped escaped, but fortunately for you and everyone else, he was recovered."

"Recovered?"

"Yes, recovered. Good day!" Kinch hung up the phone.

Klink tried to reach General Burkhalter, but Burkhalter was tied up on another line. He was elated, until he realized that two guards and two prisoners were now being sent on a wild goose chase. He walked over to his secretary, who was also relieved at the news that Hogan had been found. "Hilda, can you get me the air field that Corporal Langenscheidt and Sergeant Schultz were sent to?"

Hilda picked up the phone and quickly dialed; then handed the receiver to Klink.

"Hello, this is Kommandant Klink of Stalag 13. Did two of my guards arrive in a plane?"

"Yes, sir, they did. They signed out a jeep and left about 15 minutes ago."

"That's not good. Can you radio them?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. The car didn't have a radio. They're lucky they have four good tires."

Klink grabbed for the antacids. "If they come back, tell them to fly home immediately!" Klink slammed down the phone, only to be startled a second later by its ringing.

"What is it?" he said crossly.

"Klink!"

"Oh, General, I'm so sorry; I just wanted to let you know that Hogan has been recaptured."

"Yes, I know. I was just on the phone with one of your guards. Two SS officers came across Hogan's truck at a checkpoint and took over the search. They found him."

"Well, that was very nice of them, sir. Not something you usually can say about the SS, can you?"

"Don't say anything about the SS, Klink."

"No, General."

"Good. You will call your men back and say nothing to no one."

"No General, yes. I mean, yes, I won't say anything."

_Idiot_. Burkhalter slammed down the phone.

000hhh000

The search party stood staring in disbelief as their plane headed off in the direction of Switzerland.

"Schultz, close your mouth, or you'll catch flies."

The sergeant shut his mouth and quickly opened it again. "Newkirk, that was our plane! And it's too cold for flies."

"It's an expression," Carter explained. "Well, plane or no plane, we have to try and find Colonel Hogan."

"That's right, mates." Newkirk, who appeared totally unperturbed at the sight of their transportation home heading off to defect, pulled out a road map of Southern Germany.

"Where did you get that map?" Langenscheidt, looking over Newkirk's shoulder, asked.

"Always be prepared," the corporal responded, as he unfolded the paper. "That's my motto. "We're here," he told Carter. Both men were now ignoring the two guards. "And his last known position was here."

Carter tapped Schultz on the shoulder. "Go north two kilometers and then turn west, Schultz. There's a road that comes to a tee. We'll backtrack from there. Unless you have a better idea?"

"No." Schultz drove off.

"If I was Colonel Hogan, where would I go?" Carter said quietly.

"West to France," Langenscheidt suggested.

"South," Schultz countered.

_Daylight, a uniform, and the wrong papers_, Newkirk thought. "He'd hole up!"

"I agree with Newkirk," Carter said.

"So, he stays, Carter? How do you say it? Stay…" Langenscheidt paused as he tried to recall the word.

"Stay put, Karl," Schultz finished the corporal's sentence.

"Too bad we didn't bring some dogs."

"Blimey, Carter! Now you think of it!"

"Sorry, Newkirk, it just came to me. Darn! Heidi would have found him."

Schultz shuddered. "Heidi. She doesn't like me."

"Don't take it personally. Look, there's the tee. Turn left and go another kilometer. We should run into one of the checkpoints."

The checkpoints Carter was referring to were missing, although what was evident were massive troop movements heading towards defensive positions along the Rhine.

"Boy, what I could do here with some detonators and explosives," Carter's eyes were open wide as he spoke quietly to Newkirk. He was almost ready to jump out of his seat.

Newkirk was making a mental note of what he was seeing, but he paused to calm Carter down.

"Easy, Andrew," he whispered, "We're not here for that. Speaking of which, where are the checkpoints?"

"Gone, obviously. I bet they were a setup."

"What are you two whispering about?" Schultz asked. They were now stuck in a traffic jam that was inching along at a snail's pace in both directions.

"Nothing, Schultz," Carter replied. "I think this is where Colonel Hogan escaped."

"Good." Schultz pulled off to the side of the road. "Now what?"

"We get out and take a look." Carter was already scanning the tree line in hopes of spotting a sign.

Schultz nodded to Langenscheidt, who, along with the sergeant and the two prisoners, exited the jeep. Newkirk went back for Schultz's rifle and handed it to him. "Danke. You two lead."

Carter stood still for several minutes. He didn't bother examining the road, since convoys had erased any tracks or signs, although he doubted Hogan would have left any. He looked in both directions; then picked a side.

"That way," he pointed.

"He's got instincts," Newkirk explained to the two Germans.

"Maybe he's still hiding. He'll see us and come out?" Langenscheidt said.

"Maybe," Carter answered. "Although, I doubt it." He thought Hogan would not do the obvious and run. "Hide in plain sight," he muttered.

Slowly, he, and Newkirk, with Schultz and Langenscheidt trailing behind them, walked along the roadside and then further in.

"Hold it!" Newkirk held up his hand. "I found something."

There were tracks heading to a wooded area. The men began to follow them and came to what was obviously a hiding place.

"He hid here." Newkirk got on his hands and knees and began to search the ground.

"You sure?" Langenscheidt asked.

"Pretty sure. Looks like this area has been disturbed."

"It's obvious," Carter agreed. "But he didn't cover it up when he left. Either he was in a hurry, or he got caught. Look, the tracks lead back to the road. There's more than one."

"So, he _was_found," Newkirk said. "But by whom?"

* * *

(1) Hogan's awards weres seen on episode "Easy Come Easy Go" and listed in the Hogan's Heroes wiki.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

"Ready to go?" Boswell addressed Hogan and Merkel. Hogan, still in his uniform, was wearing a makeshift sling, while Merkel was dressed in a suit, and had on hand fake documentation identifying him as a Swiss diplomat.

"Remind me…you said you knew what you're doing?" Hogan demanded.

"Yes," Garrett, who was driving, responded. "Worst case scenario…they don't give us what we want, the swap is still off. You escape from us permanently, and go back to camp. I doubt they'll try this again."

Hogan sighed inwardly. He hated not having control over a situation, especially dangerous ones.

"Come to think of it, I'm not too enamored of being a hostage," Merkel commented, "Now that we're about to go through with this."

Boswell turned to the back of the car. "Getting cold feet? Because we need to know now!"

Merkel thought for a moment. "No, I said I would do this. Let's go through with it. I need the acting practice. I used to dabble in amateur theater," he told Hogan.

"Me, too," Hogan grinned.

"Burlesque?" Garrett asked. Boswell laughed.

"No. Shakespeare," Hogan, ignoring the insult, replied.

"We're almost there," Boswell dug into his pockets and pulled out a set of handcuffs. "Sorry, Robert. You'll have to put these back on."

"Allow me," Merkel took the cuffs from Boswell and slapped them around Hogan's wrists.

"I hate these things." Hogan tried to push a stray strand of hair off his forehead, but it wouldn't cooperate. The movement made his shoulder hurt, so he wisely let his arms drop.

"Places everyone!" Garrett pulled the car up to a guard post at a small border crossing. The crossing was heavily manned on both sides, while two sets of fences bordered the two separate countries. Across the other side, a car was waiting. The occupants, who appeared to be a Swiss diplomat, American military men, and the last, an overweight German general who looked to be in his mid-fifties, exited and approached the fence.

Boswell, Garrett, Merkel and Hogan did the same.

"Colonel Hogan?" One of the American men shouted.

"Here!"

"Open the gates," Boswell told the guard on the German side.

"We didn't expect the SS to bring the prisoner!" The American, who they could now see was a major, shouted.

"There was a complication, but as you can see, here is your colonel, healthy and safe." Boswell began to move closer to the Swiss side. "Have the general move closer, please."

The major spoke to the general, who shook his head. The major repeated his orders to the general, this time using hand gestures for emphasis.

"What's going on?" Hogan asked Boswell.

"Maybe he doesn't want to come back," Merkel joked.

"I think you may be right." Boswell seemed to be amused by the situation.

"Oh, are you freaking kidding me! What's with this guy?" Hogan strained to hear the argument on the other side; but the voices were muted.

The American major whispered something in the general's ear, and pointed to Boswell and Garrett. He then gave General Steinmetz a shove towards the gate, which had swung open.

The general paled, and then slowly began to walk towards the open gate.

"Okay, Hogan, start walking," Boswell said loudly.

"Wait. What about these cuffs?" Hogan asked.

Boswell and Merkel approached. "Stop!" Boswell had drawn a gun, and was pointing it at Hogan. Garrett had quickly appeared and was pointing his pistol at Merkel's temple. He had one hand around Merkel's arm.

"What is the meaning of this?" Merkel asked with the right amount of anxiety.

Hogan turned around. "Hey!"

"No talking!" Boswell demanded as the German general began to move back. "In case you haven't guessed, the swap is off," Boswell stated loudly. "Send the general over, and we won't kill this Swiss representative."

"No!" the American major shouted from the other side of the border. "No deal. We won't renegotiate. This goes against all the rules of war and diplomacy."

"I really don't want to…" Steinmetz interrupted.

"Quiet!" The Swiss diplomat on the other side told the general.

"I don't think the SS cares about rules of war and diplomacy," Hogan said as he looked back and forth.

"Perhaps we can work this out. Send us Colonel Hogan. We'll make the switch and we won't make a formal complaint."

"That's a good outcome fellas. What do you say?" Hogan asked.

Despite the cold temperature, Merkel began to shake and perspire.

_Hey, he's good, _Hogan thought.

"Send _us_ the general, or he's dead." Garrett removed the safety on his weapon, which was still aimed at Merkel's temple.

Hogan turned and faced the Swiss border. "I'll stay," he said; then pointed at Merkel, "But he's a civilian." Turning to Garrett, he added, "Let the guy go."

"We want the general, orhe dies," Garrett replied. "And you, Colonel Hogan; we'll deal with you later."

"I heard that," The American major stated. "Will you guarantee Colonel Hogan's safety, and then send over the hostage?"

"You'll have to take our word for it!" Garrett shouted.

"You're SS. You can't be trusted," Hogan said quietly, but loud enough for the German guards at their side of the border to hear.

"We're sending the general over." The diplomat gave Steinmetz a push. Now their guns were trained on him. He looked back.

"Go," the major ordered.

The general unhappily made his way across the border, and a few moments later, found himself in front of Boswell, Garrett and Merkel.

Garrett lowered his gun and escorted Merkel closer to the border. "Great job. Thanks," he whispered. "They're all working for us," he reminded Merkel. "They'll get you back over the border."

Merkel whispered back, "It was sort of exhilarating."

"Go ahead," Garrett pushed Merkel forward. Merkel began to walk, then broke out into a run across the border. The team hustled him into the waiting car, and waited.

The German guards stood there dumbfounded. "Don't mess with the SS," Garrett glared at them.

"Welcome back, General," Boswell saluted. "This way, please. You too, Colonel."

"This could create an international incident," Hogan mentioned as soon as they were in the car.

"Doesn't concern us." Garrett, the driver, shared the front with the now perplexed and obviously unhappy general, while Boswell was in the back with Hogan.

"What is the meaning of this? The prisoner is correct. We have many men in the Allied camps. There could be reprisals."

"I doubt it," Boswell answered. "Welcome back, General. We'll be bringing you to more comfortable quarters, shortly."

"But I didn't ask to be swapped," the general protested. "There are others; and I prefer to stay with my men who were also taken prisoner."

_I'll bet,_ Hogan thought.

"Understandable, sir. But you have friends in high places," Boswell answered the general, who turned towards the back and stared.

"I do?" 

000hhh000

"We're not far from the border," Carter was looking at the map. He then checked his watch. "The swap is supposed to happen in fifteen minutes. Maybe we can get over there and see if whoever picked the colonel up plans on taking him to the border. What do you think?"

Newkirk and Carter turned to Schultz and Langenscheidt.

"Um, whatever you two think."

"Good man, Schultz. Let's go," Carter said. The four piled into the jeep. A few moments later, they were again stuck in traffic.

Langenscheidt leaned on the horn.

"That's not going to get us moving any faster, idiot!" A sergeant riding in the back seat of the jeep stuck in front of them screamed, and gave them the German equivalent of the finger.

"We have to get to the border crossing," Schultz yelled back.

"Yeah, well everyone is trying to get somewhere," the sergeant yelled back. At that point, all the horns started blaring.

"Sounds like New York," Carter commented and then laughed.

Schultz sniffed. "There's no need to be rude during wartime."

The traffic finally began to move, and Langenscheidt lurched the car forward. Eventually, the four wound up at the border crossing, where they found Gestapo agents, a Luftwaffe officer, an SS officer, and a bunch of very angry Swiss screaming at each other. On the other side, off in the distance, there was a car with diplomatic plates and a small American flag stuck into one of the hood ornaments. Three men were standing by the automobile, trying to see and hear what was happening on the German side of the border.

"This can't be good," Langenscheidt said as he slowly pulled up to a roadblock. "What's going on?" he asked the corporal manning the gate. "We are here on official business."

"Some prisoner exchange gone wrong, I think."

"Can you let us through, please? We are here to investigate a missing prisoner."

"Do you have papers?"

"I have them." Schultz handed over an envelope.

The corporal read its contents. "Go ahead." He lifted the gate and waved the jeep through.

"I don't like the looks of this," Carter told Newkirk.

"I don't either," Newkirk replied. He then whispered in Carter's ear. "Maybe it's part of the plan."

"What are you two whispering about again? Be quiet. Shush. And no secrets or monkey business."

"Sorry, Schultz," Newkirk reached over and patted the sergeant on the shoulder.

"That's a big bunch of bad guys," Carter said jokingly.

"Carter!"

"Sorry, Schultz."

"You stay in the jeep, and don't move." Schultz wagged his finger at the two POW's, took a deep breath, gathered up his courage, and walked over to the Luftwaffe officer who was in the middle of a heated argument with the SS official.

"Yes, Sergeant. What is it?" The officer asked as he saw Schultz approach.

"My orders, sir. We were sent to assist in the search for Colonel Hogan. He was lost, and needs to be found, so he can be swapped."

"You're late!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"He was found by two SS men. They brought him here on time for the swap, and then…" he raised his voice, "Proceeded to hold the prisoner and the Swiss representative hostage in order to gain the release of the general."

"What…?"

"He's gone. The general is gone. And those two SS men are gone. You understand? Tell your general and your Kommandant that. Are those two prisoners in your jeep?"

"Yes."

"What are these men doing here?"

"As you can see," Schultz answered nervously, "We had permission to bring them to help with the tracking."

"That's very unorthodox."

"Outrageous," the Gestapo agent, who had overheard, joined in.

"Shouldn't you be out there looking for the SS car?" A Swiss diplomat chimed in.

Langenscheidt, Newkirk, and Carter eventually walked over. "Newkirk," Schultz whined, "I told you to stay in the jeep."

"Well, seeing as this concerns our colonel, I think we have a right to know what happened here."

Schultz decided to let the officers fight amongst themselves, and headed back towards the gate. He approached the corporal, and asked if he could use his phone. With Carter, Newkirk and Langenscheidt hanging on every word, he attempted to explain to Klink what had occurred.

"He what? They what? To whom? Both?" Klink, who couldn't quite believe what had happened, began to sweat. He grabbed a handkerchief, and wiped his face.

"What do you want us to do, Kommandant?"

"Do?" Klink couldn't send them after the SS. Besides, the SS, along with the general and Hogan, were probably long gone. "Come back," he ordered. "Go back to the airfield and get on the plane."

"But, Kommandant…"

"No buts, Schultz."

"But, Kommandant, the plane is gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone. Colonel Hogan is gone. The general is gone. Everyone's gone. What are your orders Kommandant?"

"If you can't get a plane, drive."

"Drive?"

"What did he say, Sergeant?" Langenscheidt asked.

"If you can't get a plane, drive."

"Drive? But that's over 500 kilometers!" Langenscheidt was seeing his life flash before his eyes.

"Then we should get started." As much as Schultz hated to fly, he had to admit he was not too keen on driving all the way back.

"Let's go back to the airfield, Schultz."

"But, Carter. We don't have a plane or a pilot."

"The Kommandant said _if_ you can't get a plane. Those were his orders, Schultz. We should at least try." Carter gave the sergeant his best puppy-dog look.

With that, they headed for the airfield. Carter, as well as Newkirk, still wanted to search for Hogan, or better yet; find a way to get a hold of camp or London, and find out if the kidnapping was staged, or if the SS had indeed tricked everyone and stolen their colonel.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9_

Boswell, Garrett and their two passengers switched cars, and then arrived at Merkel's home shortly afterwards.

"This is uncalled for," Steinmetz's constant complaining left Hogan thinking the general was either more courageous than the reports, or just plain stupid. Normally, arguing with the SS, especially in a situation such as this, was counter-productive.

"I second that!" Hogan added.

"You speak German?" The general was surprised.

"It's no secret," Hogan responded.

Steinmetz turned to the two Americans posing as SS. "Who are you and what is the meaning of this? Do you realize the international ramifications of what you have done?"

"He's got a good point." Despite the pain in his shoulder, Hogan was enjoying the charade. "Why don't you take us back, make the switch and I'll tell the Red Cross and my government to let bygones by bygones."

Garrett appeared annoyed. "Take the colonel to the other room. He's becoming bothersome."

"Let's go, Colonel." Boswell pointed towards the kitchen.

Hogan got off of his chair and followed the agent through the door. Boswell let the door swing closed, waited a moment; then removed the handcuffs. They both then stood by, and tried to eavesdrop in on the conversation between Garrett and the general.

"General, I think you would be grateful for your rescue and our coup."

"It's not that I'm not grateful. But the swap should have taken place. Or," he continued, "You could have just kept Colonel Hogan."

"We didn't arrange the swap. But," Garrett lowered his voice, "We thought we could kill two birds with one stone. Do you know who we have in there?"

"A colonel from the Army Air Corps."

"Not just any colonel. That's Robert Hogan."

"_I'm flattered," Hogan said to Boswell.  
_  
_"Shhh."_

"Yes, it's Robert Hogan," Steinmetz repeated. "I obviously know his name; I just said it."

"No, no. Listen," Garrett said, "Eagle Squadron, then the 504th… Responsible for destroying nine of our submarines, three major oil refineries, multiple rail yards…new battle techniques…etc."

"Sounds familiar and…Why is that important now? He is our prisoner! The plans and codes are all changed."

"He was interrogated," Garrett paused. "Extensively."

"_Don't remind me," Hogan whispered to Boswell._

"They got nothing. But, we still think he could be of use. Besides, we can't have him sent back."

"They wouldn't have him flying combat missions again. That's not allowed."

"Yes, but he could still be involved in training…and developing strategy. You, General; you can get information out of him. With our help of course; and then bring it to Berlin."

"Me?"

"Right to Goering."

"Yes, yes. Maybe you are right. Yes."

"General, would you like a drink? Sherry? Schnapps?"

"Schnapps."

Garrett left the room.

Steinmetz mulled over what he had heard. He didn't want to tackle with the SS. No one in their right mind would. Personally, he would rather be back in the nice, safe POW camp he had been taken to somewhere in the British Isles. But that was then. He had to think of the present, as well as his neck. Perhaps the SS agent had a point. Get information out of this colonel, give it to Berlin. Yes. Maybe this was not such a bad scenario.

"Hook, line and sinker," Garrett gleefully reported as he found the bottle of schnapps, and poured some in a glass. He plopped a tablet in there. "Help yourself."

"None for you?" Steinmetz asked when Garrett returned with one glass.

"On duty."

"I see." Steinmetz took a sip. "Nice. So, what is the game plan?"

"We'll start off easy. See if he's amenable to talking. Then take it from there."

"Good plan." Steinmetz finished the drink and then yawned.

"General, you look fatigued. I am sure you are tired after wasting away in that Allied camp. And then the long journey..."

_Wasting away isn't quite the word I would use._ "Yes," Steinmetz handed Garrett the empty glass, "The conditions were deplorable."

_Yeah. Tell that to our boys marching across Germany_. "Take a rest, General. We have a long journey ahead of us."

"Back to Berlin?" Steinmetz's eyelids were now getting heavy. "But, what about my interrogation?"

"We'll get there, I promise you. He isn't going anywhere. Right now, he's tied up in the kitchen."

000hhh000

Hogan was indeed tied up in the kitchen. He was ecstatically preparing a meal for the three of them. "Fresh eggs and milk; this is awesome! How do you like your eggs?" He asked Boswell.

"Scrambled. You sure I can't help?" Boswell had retrieved the radio, and was in the process of sending a coded message.

"Nope, I got it." Hogan cracked the eggs one-handed. He was delicately removing the shells that had landed in the bowl, when Garrett walked in.

"He's sleeping like a baby. Let me do that before you ruin lunch!"

"Hey," Hogan protested, "I can cook!"

"When was the last time you scrambled real eggs? And with one arm, no less," Garrett grabbed the fork out of Hogan's hand. He then cracked open two more eggs with a flourish.

"1941. Farm out in the English countryside." Hogan stopped for a moment to pour coffee. He took a sip. "Wow, that's a real good black market blend. Where was I? 1941. Met this woman, her name was Emily. Nice," Hogan recalled. "We got to talking, one thing led to another… You know how that is?"

"Yeah, go on," Boswell urged.

Hogan now had the rapt attention of the two agents.

"She invited me back to her house the next time I had leave. Farmhouse – real eggs, milk, bacon…and three kids."

"You're joking!" Boswell said.

"Nope. And her mother."

"So, she was married?" Garrett asked.

"Yes, but the kids were evacuees. And before you give me a look," Hogan warned them, "Nothing actually happened. We met at a pub; she needed a night out. We talked for hours. When I was at the house, I ended up playing _Snakes and Ladders_ with a 5 year old," Hogan grinned.

Both Boswell and Garrett chuckled; then Boswell said, "You're pulling our leg."

"Honest truth," Hogan replied. "Ya know, it was kind of nice." Hogan quickly changed the subject. "What next?" He took a mouthful of egg. "Not bad. Mine always turns out like rubber."

"It's all in the wrist," Garrett answered. He grabbed the whisk and demonstrated. "See?"

"Can the cooking lesson; we don't have much time." Hogan slowly rotated his injured shoulder, wincing with the backwards motion.

"We'll let him bounce you around a bit." Garrett put down the whisk and reached under Hogan's sling to massage the muscle.

Hogan stepped away and turned to face Garrett. "Oh, come on!"

"Not literally. We'll decide it's time to take our new friend to Berlin."

"But we're not heading that way."

"Nope. We'll head back up north and gather intelligence along the way, which you can pass on."

"It's a long drive. What about overnight accommodations?" Hogan asked.

"We have a safe house arranged," Garrett replied.

The men paused as the sound of planes could be heard along with anti-aircraft fire. Explosions followed.

"You know," Hogan said, "The ride back could be hairy. If you get me a plane, it might be safer. And quicker."

"Now, how would we explain a POW flying a German plane?" Garrett stood up and cleared the table.

"You don't," Boswell said firmly. "The flying is dangerous right now. And what about your arm?"

"I'd rather take my chances up there," Hogan argued. "Better than on the ground. Besides, I can head a bit east, and not engage anyone. I can handle the controls. I've been in worse shape in the cockpit."

The three joined the snoozing general in the living room, and took advantage of the free time to take a rest themselves. Once everyone was rejuvenated, they headed out on their trip.

"Colonel Hogan, can you tell me why the 504th was transferred back to the United States?" The general was polite, but eager, as he peppered Hogan with questions in the back seat of the car.

"I already told the Gestapo; I knew nothing about that. And you needn't bother," Hogan added in a bored tone, "All you're getting is my name, rank and serial number, which you already know. So… I think I'll shut up and take a nap." Hogan leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

Steinmetz, who was wide awake, seeing as he had a good nap, poked Hogan.

"Hey! Keep your hands off the merchandise."

"Don't touch him, General," Boswell growled.

"He's not giving any information," Steinmetz hissed.

"Take off the cuffs, and maybe I'll answer one question."

"Do you think I'm stupid?" The general snapped.

"Do I have to answer that?"

Boswell held back a laugh and turned around. "Colonel, I'd advise you to be polite. You're in a tenuous position."

"Sorry. I'd salute, but my hands are tied." Hogan turned towards Steinmetz and offered him a grin.

The car rolled up to a checkpoint at a four-way intersection. Hogan turned to look out the window. There were troop trucks heading west. The occupants, he noticed, looked weary and ill-fed. Some of the soldiers he saw, with alarm, were very young, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. He reached over the front seat and tapped Boswell.

"I see your master race is pulling out all the stops. Getting children to send to the front?"

Boswell gazed out the window. He gave Hogan a look, and then didn't comment.

Steinmetz leaned over to get a peek. He had no comment as well, but sank back in his seat as they rolled up to the guard.

"There's a detour," the guard told them. "This route had been bombed. You'll have to head east."

Hogan, who was still taking mental notes, suggested they head west.

"That's the front," Steinmetz pointed out.

"Way to state the obvious." Hogan turned to the general. "Just thought we could speed things up." Although Hogan knew why it was necessary, he was tiring of acting the prisoner. But as long as there was a chance of being stopped, he had no choice. He grumbled under his breath and continued to look out the window.

Garrett turned the car and headed east.

"We're heading further into our territory, Colonel Hogan. It's not looking good for you." Steinmetz's voice now held a small hint of panic. "Tell me…"

Hogan was getting bored with this useless back and forth. "You're not getting anything out of me!" He snapped, before the general could ask the question. "So stop wasting your breath!"

That made Steinmetz angry. "Where is your military courtesy? This is an outrage! You," Steinmetz reached over and poked Boswell. "You are you going to let this, this…man… get away with speaking to me like that?"

"No. Colonel Hogan," Boswell said calmly. "Please watch your tone."

"That is not the punishment I was expecting," The general huffed.

Boswell took out his gun. "Do you wish that I shoot him?"

"No." The general, who had no training in interrogation techniques, and little skill in anything else for that matter, took a deep breath, looked out the window and began to reassess his predicament.

Garrett slowed down as the car came to a railroad crossing. The line had been bombed, but laborers were already working on fixing the tracks. He assumed they were slaves, but couldn't be certain. A long line of boxcars stood motionless ahead of the construction.

"We should check on what's in those boxcars," Garrett told Boswell.

"Go ahead."

Garrett pulled the car up to the group of guards overseeing the workers. He got out and walked up to a sergeant who was leaning up against a truck. "What's in those boxcars?"

"Supplies and munitions, sir!"

"No prisoners?"

"No, sir."

Garrett stepped back and gazed up and down the line. Satisfied the guard was telling the truth, he headed back towards the car. There was nothing he could do about the laborers clearing the track. Fortunately, there were no POW's to worry about. Once in the car, he flashed a grin at the passengers, and then spoke to his partner. "If we get a chance, we should notify HQ that this munitions train is delayed."

"I believe we should make haste," Steinmetz said. "A stopped train is asking for trouble; especially with the munitions on board."

Hogan leaned forward. "I have to agree with the general on this point. Someone is bound to let the Allies know its location."

"Fine. We'll hightail it out of here." Garrett backed up the car, and headed alongside the tracks until he reached the front of the train. He maneuvered over the rails and then began to head north, or so he thought.

"I think we passed this already," Boswell noted.

"No way. Get out the map."

Boswell unfolded the map, and tried to find their location. "Wish they put a, '_you are here__'_, on these things. So where are we? There are no signs."

"I thought you knew your way around," Hogan whispered.

"Let me see that," Steinmetz grabbed the map out of Boswell's hand, and propped it up on the back of the front seat. Both he and Hogan looked at it.

"We are here!" Steinmetz announced, pointing to a small section. "We've been driving in circles!"

"Told you we already came this way!" Boswell chided Garrett.

Hogan gave Boswell a poke. "Let me look. Hey, take these off, and I'll see if I can pinpoint our location."

Boswell shrugged, and removed the handcuffs.

"Thanks. I'm not going anywhere," Hogan stopped Steinmetz's protests. "There's no place to run." He took the map and turned it upside down. "We're heading this way. Sometimes it's easier to follow where you are going, if you turn it." Hogan began to study the map, and the topography outside the car window. He thought he found the railroad tracks that they crossed, but now, they were nowhere in sight. "Hmm," he rubbed his chin, and then ran his fingers through his hair. "Anyone have a compass?"

"Maybe we should try and ask someone?" Boswell said as he opened the glove compartment to look for a compass. "Here it is. That way is north!" He pointed.

"Ask someone?" Garrett laughed. "Who can I ask? And I'm not stopping. We have to get going. Besides, the SS does not ask directions. We give the directions!"

Hogan started choking. "I'm all right."

"You have the compass," Steinmetz pointed out. "I order you to drive northeast! And move it, before it gets dark."

"We have a place to stay if that happens." Boswell took the map from Hogan, who was still studying the features, and began to fold it.

Shortly thereafter, the four were again turned back at another checkpoint. The bombing raid from the previous evening had cut off access to another railroad line, the autobahn and another route heading north.

Boswell retrieved the map and tossed it to Hogan. "Can you get us back towards the border?"

Boswell had already decided to try Plan B. He whispered in Garrett's ear.

"I'll give it a shot," Hogan said. The car passed by a few army jeeps, and some civilians, but didn't stop. "Eh…turn right up ahead, and then straight for two kilometers; back across the tracks, and then south."

"You sound overly confident." Steinmetz attempted to grab the map, which Hogan quickly held out of reach.

"General," Garrett said a few minutes later, "We are heading towards an airfield to get a plane. The trip up to Berlin will take too long and it's too dangerous."

"Fine. You'll commandeer a plane and I'll order someone to fly us to Berlin," Steinmetz stated. "Colonel Hogan…I'd be getting nervous if I were you. We'll be in Berlin rather quickly, and you have been most uncooperative." The general wagged his finger at Hogan, reminding the colonel of Klink. Steinmetz and Hogan then began a stare down, the general blinking first.

"That's a good plan, General; except we don't need a pilot. Colonel Hogan has a pilot's license," Boswell said.

"He'll fly the plane? Absolutely not! Are you out of your mind?" Steinmetz's face began to turn red. "Whoever heard of a POW flying a German plane?"

"There's a first time for everything," Garrett said. "In trying times, we improvise. Right, Colonel Hogan?"

"No one asked me," the colonel grumbled.

* * *

A/N I got stuck once playing Snakes and ladders with a 5 year old cousin that lived near London. You may know the game as Chutes and Ladders. Regarding Allied POW camps for captured Germans. I have not done much research on it, but what I have seen, is that camps in England, Canada and the States were not that bad. Conditions for captured Germans on the continent in the last few months of the war were not as hospitable. And...I wish I had a dollar for every time a man in my life would not stop to ask directions. I'd be rich!


	10. Chapter 10

_Recap: The swap is successfully stopped. Back at the safe house, Boswell, Garrett and Hogan have a nice lunch. Boswell was on the radio, supposedly notifying HQ that everything was now going swimmingly. But the four get lost driving around, and get frustrated with roadblocks, debris etc. So, they decide to head to the airfield to commandeer a plane. Meanwhile, Schultz and company just miss Hogan at the border. They find out the swap was stopped by the SS and that Hogan and the general were taken away. Eventually, they wind up back at the airfield. Klink tells them to come back. Not looking forward to a long drive, they too, decide to try and find a plane._

_Chapter 10_

Schultz, Langenscheidt, Newkirk, and Carter piled into their jeep and headed back the way they came.

Once they reached the airfield, Newkirk said, "You two go look for a plane and pilot. Carter and I will wait here."

"You'll escape if we leave you here alone," Schultz cried. "Do you think I was born yesterday? Karl. Wait here. I will go talk to the people running the airfield. Don't move," Schultz ordered, as he walked away and headed for the building.

Carter and Newkirk looked around the airfield. There were, in fact, several planes lined up and ready to go. But right now, their objective was to somehow find a 2 way radio and contact the camp or London.

Carter tapped Langenscheidt on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.

"Now?" Karl complained. "You should have gone before we left."

Carter shrugged and then said. "You know that doesn't make any sense! It's not like we came to a rest stop!"

"You two go on. I'll stay here and keep the car warm." Newkirk walked over to the jeep, and began to hop in.

Karl thought for a moment. "No. You'll both come."

They all headed for the office, where Schultz was attempting to convince the OD that it was essential that they be given a plane and pilot.

"Pit stop, Schultz," Carter explained with an innocent look.

Schultz sighed and asked the OD where the washroom was located.

"This way." Langenscheidt pointed, and then followed Newkirk and Carter down a small hallway.

"I won't be long!" Carter announced. He entered the small room, turned on the light and locked the door. Within seconds, he found what he was looking for. Climbing up on the toilet, he jimmied open the window screen and hoisted himself up. Thankfully, he was now thin enough to fit through. Checking to see that no one was looking, he silently dropped to the ground. Staying close to the building, Carter began to look for an unguarded radio. There were too many Germans milling around the fuel depot, so he headed over to the motor pool. The sergeant who had issued Schultz the jeep was seated at desk, reading a magazine. Carter snuck past the window and began checking the cars. A staff car parked near the building came equipped with a radio. He opened the door, crouched down on the seat, and began fiddling with the controls.

ooohhhooo

"Kinch," Olsen said. "We're getting a message on the emergency frequency."

Kinch, who was cleaning some equipment, hurried over just in time to catch the repeated message.

"It's Carter. Go get Captain Mitchell."

Olsen headed up top and quickly returned with both Mitchell and LeBeau.

"What's the story?" Mitchell asked Kinch.

"They're at the airfield. They found out Colonel Hogan and the general were picked up by two SS men. I told him we got a message from London confirming that the two SS men were our agents. Carter told me Klink ordered the four of them to head back, and then he had to get off the radio."

"That's great! So eventually everyone will be back safe and sound, and I can give the colonel his job back!"

"Not quite, Captain. Carter managed to tell me they had no transport back here. Their pilot defected. So they're driving."

"No!" Mitchell punched the wall of the tunnel, sending dirt flying in every direction. "We can't lose Carter and Newkirk. And we certainly can't lose Schultz and Langenscheidt."

"No, Sir. Schultz is a vital member of our operation." Olsen brushed the dirt off of his jacket.

"Any orders?" asked a worried LeBeau.

"Keep monitoring Klink's office."

"I have two men on it," LeBeau told Mitchell.

"Good." Mitchell let out a deep breath. "Kinch, patch me through to London. While we wait, let's discuss options. We can all assume the colonel is in safe hands. But, we have two men, and two guards facing a 500 kilometer drive back up here."

"Newkirk and Carter can take care of themselves, Captain," Kinch stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes. But they have to also watch out for unfriendly troops, bombs, strafing, and God knows what else. And I don't feel that they are exactly secure, traveling with Schultz and Langenscheidt. Those two don't especially strike me as resourceful."

000hhh000

Langenscheidt was getting impatient. He knocked on the bathroom door. Newkirk, who was standing behind him, grunted.

"Carter. How much longer?" The corporal knocked again.

"Can't a man have some privacy?" Newkirk's imitation of Carter was dead on enough to satisfy the guard. Langenscheidt turned and looked at Newkirk, who grinned. "Stress. Carter's prone to it, you know."

"Yes," Langenscheidt agreed. "Chamomile tea. That's what my mother always gave us."

"That's good. But, I've always been partial to chicken soup. Cure all, me mum used to say."

Food being the favorite topic of conversation for all servicemen, Langenscheidt took Newkirk's bait. "My mother used to swear that chocolate could cure anything."

"Dark chocolate or milk chocolate? Actually, I may have some chocolate in me pockets." Newkirk dug around and came up with a half-eaten bar. "Have some." _Hurry it up Carter._

Several minutes later, the toilet flushed, the water ran, and the door opened.

"Bout time, mate."

"You all right?" Langenscheidt peaked around Carter and saw nothing amiss.

"Oh, fine." Carter gave Newkirk a thumb's up.

"It's no use," Schultz sadly told his charges when he returned. "They will not give us a plane."

"Oh, come on." Carter approached the sergeant as they walked outside. "Did you tell him it was Klink and Burkhalter's orders?"

"They didn't know who the Kommandant was. And they didn't care about General Burkhalter. There are no pilots available and only a few planes."

"You mean we have to drive? All that way in a jeep?"

"This has to be against the Geneva Convention." Newkirk, who was cold, rubbed his hands together.

"Maybe we can catch a train." Carter suggested.

"Sergeant Carter. Your fliers are bombing the railroads," Langenscheidt told him. "Do you want to get killed by your own bombs?"

"I don't want to get killed by any bombs," Schultz muttered.

"Then we'll have to see if we can borrow this jeep for a long trip," Newkirk said. "Anyone care to face the motor pool again?"

"No. We will just take the car," Schultz decided. "And send them a check later."

"Boy," Carter exclaimed. "What's your army's fee for mileage?"

"Kilometers. Carter." Schultz shook his head. "I don't know. That's the Big Shot's problem. And when will your country and your country…" He pointed at Newkirk. "Go metric?"

"When 'ell freezes over, Schultz. Come on. Let's get going before we get caught and end up walking."

000hhh000

We are taking one of your planes." Garrett announced as he walked into the control room of the airfield.

"I told you before," the annoyed Sergeant, responded icily. "No pilot available. No planes available. No clearance."

"I don't think you understood me, Sergeant. I am with the SS. This is General Steinmetz. We are taking a plane."

The sergeant looked up and knocked over his drink.

"I'm…I'm…sorry, sir. I don't have a pilot available."

"No need. I will fly it."

"Yes. Yes. Of course you can. One moment." The sergeant turned on the radio and spoke a few words. "They are getting one ready for you, sir…general. It's not much, but it will seat you and… is that an American prisoner?"

"Never mind who this is," Garrett snapped. "Where is this plane?"

"There it is. " Hogan who was looking out the window, pointed to the flurry of activity around a small aircraft.

"This isn't fit for a general," Steinmetz snorted as the four walked over to the tarmac.

'Would you rather drive, sir?" Boswell asked him.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Garrett whispered to Hogan.

"I've stolen a German plane before. It's just like riding a bike. You never forget." Hogan slapped Garrett on the back. "Tell them you want to inspect the plane yourself, and then take me with you."

"You stole a German plane? When? How?"

"It was a birthday present from General Biedenbender." Hogan laughed. "Poor Schultz. He ended up coming with us and had to jump."

"No kidding!" Garrett tried to imagine the rotund sergeant in a parachute, and then quickly tossed that picture aside. "Is this ready?" Garrett asked the ground crew.

"Yes sir. All fueled and ready to go," the mechanic answered.

"I will inspect it. Back away. Colonel Hogan will accompany me."

Hogan, along with Garrett, made a thorough examination of the outside of the aircraft.

"Satisfied?" Garrett whispered.

Hogan nodded. "We'll need four chutes. And I want to see them before we put them on."

"General, after you." Boswell pointed to the door.

"Will we all fit in here?" The general asked as he climbed in.

"It will be snug," Hogan admitted. "But cozy."

"It's old and not pretty; but it'll get us to where we're going as long as we steer clear of our own guys." Garrett told Boswell as he and Hogan climbed into the plane.

Boswell and Steinmetz, both fitted in their chutes, were seated together in the rear of the craft. Garrett and Hogan donned their packs and entered the cockpit.

"Hold on! Where's he going?" Steinmetz unbuckled and stood up.

"Him? Like we told you, Colonel Hogan is flying the plane! Sit down, General." Boswell said.

"I thought you were joking! He's my prisoner. We can't have an American pilot flying our plane!" The general headed for the cockpit, when Boswell drew his pistol.

"The SS never joke. Sit down, General. This time, I mean it!"

"What is the meaning of this?"

"General. Things are not always what they seem," was Boswell's answer.

000hhh000

Wilhelm Klink, having now been notified that his star prisoner had been kidnapped by the SS and that two of his guards, and two enlisted prisoners, faced a long trip up north by car, was beside himself as he contemplated the potential escape of Carter and Newkirk. Why wouldn't those two troublemakers take off? Now that they no longer had to look for Colonel Hogan, it would be a simple matter for them to trick his two guards and escape. Particularly since they were close to the Swiss border. After all, Burkhalter's pilot had the same idea. Wait, he reminded himself. The rest of the prisoners were being held hostage, so to speak. Of course, Klink knew he couldn't have any of the prisoners shot. He didn't have it in him. But Burkhalter, or worse yet, the Gestapo, wouldn't hesitate. The Kommandant let out a small whine, and down a glass of sherry. "Carter and Newkirk wouldn't do that," he said out loud. But…it's a long trip…and something could happen to the four. And he would have that on his conscience. For despite everything, Klink was fond of Langenscheidt, and, yes, Schultz, and he didn't wish any serious harm to come to any of his prisoners. And what about Hogan…Klink picked up the phone and asked Hilda to connect him with Major Hochstetter.

"I heard, Klink. The news has traveled, and what do you want me to do about it?"

"Well, Major. I thought maybe you could call one of your…um…colleagues down south and ask them to look for Colonel Hogan, and if it's not too much trouble, my two guards and two of my prisoners."

There was a pause at the other end and then, "Did you say two guards and two prisoners?"

"Yes. You see…Hogan escaped, and we sent them down in a plane to look for him."

"I told you Klink!" Hochstetter yelled. "That man is a menace. And why would you send two of your imbecilic guards and two prisoners?"

"General Burkhalter approved it, Major."

"Ah. I see. And now you wish that I try and rescue Colonel Hogan from the SS?"

"That's correct, Major. Thank you."

"Klink. Did it ever occur to you that this whole thing is a set-up, and that Colonel Hogan was actually rescued by agents posing as SS and taken back to Allied lines? He senses that I am close at discovering his underground work once and for all."

Klink could almost picture Hochstetter rubbing his hands together just like a villain in the silent pictures. All that was missing was the evil laugh.

"Now, Major, that is preposterous."

"Since I would like Colonel Hogan back as well," Hochstetter said. "I will make some inquiries. That way, if he is found, I can catch him, and interrogate him myself!"

"Thank you, Major. Oh, don't forget my guards and prisoners?"

"Don't push your luck." Hochstetter slammed down the phone.


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter 11_

Hochstetter, who had contacts in every part of Germany and occupied Europe, easily found the phone number of a trusted cohort whose territory included Konstanz and the border crossings in the area. To his surprise, when he called, he was told that the Gestapo was already on the case. No one in the area was pleased with what had occurred at the crossing. It appeared that an international incident needed to be thwarted, lest the Swiss representatives and the Red Cross be made angry.

"Who cares if we make them angry?" Hochstetter bellowed into the phone. "Günter, do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? An international incident? What, prey tell, do you call what has been happening on this planet for the last 5 ½ years!"  
_  
_Hochstetter'sfriend attempted to mollify the major. "Wolfgang, I don't give a horse's ass what happens to this general, or the American colonel. As far as I'm concerned, they both can go off to Berlin and forever disappear in paperwork. However, Berger's office, (1) a General Burkhalter, and Goering's office are breathing down our necks. You should have seen the melee at the border crossing; everyone blaming everyone else, while the SS spirited those two away in a car. We're trying to figure out who they were, but Himmler is not returning our calls, and his office is denying responsibility."

"Which means they planned this," Hochstetter said. "And they now have Hogan to themselves." He slammed his fist on the desk. "And to think I thought this was Hogan's doing."

"You thought Hogan arranged this? Are you all right?" Günter asked. "And why do you care what happens to an American prisoner? It's not like there aren't other colonels. I can throw my weight around, and get you another one. He can replace Hogan at Stalag 13."

"No, no. You don't understand. It's_ this_ colonel. He's been my nemesis, my thorn in my side, for a long time now. You see Günter – and this is just between you and me – I think this man is _the_ Papa Bear!"

"The Underground leader responsible for the most acts of sabotage in one area of Germany? You're joking! How? Stalag 13 has a reputation for being the toughest POW camp in Germany." At least that's what Günter had heard. He had also heard, through the grapevine, that his friend Wolfgang was a bit obsessed. No one believed that a prisoner could or would have anything to do with the sabotage, and the Underground Railroad operating in that area. The idea was preposterous, and Günter suspected that Hochstetter wouldn't be promoted any time soon. The brass was becoming annoyed with the Major's wild goose chases. But still, he was his friend and colleague. "I will see what I can do down on this end, Wolfgang_." As long as I don't make enemies of the SS._

"Thank you, Günter." Hochstetter hung up. Realizing the matter was now out of his hands, he began to tackle the paperwork on his desk. However, every so often, his thoughts drifted back to Colonel Hogan, and Klink. He vowed that if Hogan wasn't recovered, there would be hell to pay.

Günter called in his aide and asked if any word had come in regarding the SS staff car.

"We are monitoring all roads heading out, Major. Men have been sent to the railroad stations in the area, but nothing is moving at the moment. The tracks have been bombed. We also have men heading out to airfields, and larger airbases. Nothing has shown up at any of the local SS offices. Oh, and it's not just our agents. It seems that the Luftwaffe is looking for the car. And they are accompanied by a Red Cross representative, and several Swiss."

Gunter thought for a moment. "Well, in that case, there isn't anything else we can do on this end. If we send out more men, we'll all run into each other. Call the airfields and checkpoints in this area, and ask them to be on the lookout for these men, and just let me know if you hear anything." Satisfied, Günter dismissed his man, and then sat down to tackle his paperwork.

000hhh000

Mitchell was patched into London and gave them a sober update regarding the fate of the posse that had set out to search for the Colonel.

"_Well, Captain. The best we can do__,__ I'm afraid, is to notify our agents in that area to keep an eye out for them. If they're found, perhaps we can arrange an armed escort. Without knowing where they are, and because they're with two guards, we can't send in an air pick-up. Sorry."_

"I understand. Thanks. Mitchell out. Well, fellas. I guess we have to just sit and wait."

"Used to it," Kinch grumbled. "Maybe they'll notify Klink of their progress." Kinch straightened up the table next to the radio. A relief man took over, and Kinch, Mitchell, LeBeau and Olsen headed up top. Several moments later, a guard barreled into the barracks, eliciting complaints from the men. Ignoring them, he announced that Captain Mitchell was to report to the Kommandant's office immediately.

"This should be interesting," Mitchell said as he left the hut. The men headed into the office and plugged in the pot.

"Kommandant," Mitchell saluted, "I hope you have some good news for me."

Klink didn't ask Mitchell to sit down. He looked up at the captain and let out a sigh. "I'm afraid not, Captain. It appears that Colonel Hogan was recaptured by two SS officers. But when they brought him to the border, they sabotaged the swap and disappeared with both the general and Colonel Hogan. I'm sorry." Klink looked so guilty and perturbed that Mitchell felt sorry for him.

Mitchell wasn't supposed to know this, so he drew on his newfound acting skills and reacted accordingly.

"How could this happen, sir?" Mitchell asked, laying on the correct amount of anger, concern and angst. "The SS will interrogate him and then kill him. You can't let this happen. Call General Burkhalter! Get someone to look for him!"

"Calm down, Captain!" Klink demanded. "I have already requested help. Major Hochstetter, our local Gestapo chief, is looking into the matter. He has a great deal of experience in tracking people down, and he promised to use every contact at his disposal. You see, he wants Colonel Hogan back every bit as much as you and I."

_I bet_. "What about Newkirk and Carter, sir?" Mitchell asked in a quieter tone.

"The four have been ordered back. I don't want them tangling with the SS."

"I agree, sir."

"Unfortunately, it seems that they are driving. The plane and pilot that took them down there is gone."

'Driving? All that way? That's awfully dangerous, don't you think?"

"Yes, but they had no choice. They tried to find an alternative, but were unsuccessful. Besides, Colonel Hogan was driven down."

"I realize that, sir. But he was in a truck with an armed escort, and with an itinerary. We only have two unarmed prisoners, and Sergeant Schultz and Langenscheidt. Forgive me, Kommandant, but they don't exactly make me confident. Have they checked in?"

"No," Klink hoped they had the brains to radio their location and their overnight stop, "But I'm sure they will." _They'll probably get lost and ask for directions._ "That's all, Captain. I will keep you informed of any updates. Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." Mitchell left the office realizing he knew more than the Kommandant. A scenario he was sure happened frequently.

000hhh000

"What do you say we get this baby revved up?" Hogan, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, began pressing buttons; fortunately, his good arm was on the same side as the throttle. As he began to taxi, he completed his pre-flight check. The plane began slowly turning towards the runway, while in the back; General Steinmetz's face was turning crimson red with anger.

"Weis, repeat what you just said," he ordered Boswell.

"I said, sit down. Things are not what they seem. Yes, that's what I said." Boswell waved his pistol for emphasis.

Steinmetz stumbled. He grabbed hold of the bench and sat. "How dare you speak to me in that manner! I'm a general! When we get to Berlin, I'll be speaking with your superiors."

Seeing Steinmetz seated and buckled, Boswell lowered his weapon. "If you wish, General. Go right ahead."

The wheels were beginning to turn in Steinmetz's head, but unfortunately, they were heading in the wrong direction. "Things are not what they seem... Ah hah! This was all planned so as to get Hogan away from the Allies and back to Berlin. He's either a double agent or a traitor. He already has turned, hasn't he? No wonder he's flying the plane. I commend you. The plan was brilliant!" The general's face went back to its usual pasty tone.

Boswell smiled. He decided to stick with a cooperative and now happy prisoner. "You are very perceptive, General." He then turned to look out the window.

At the same time Boswell was looking out the window, the officer in the control room received a phone call. He glanced out the window and then nodded.

The jeep carrying Schultz, Langenscheidt, Newkirk and Carter headed away from the buildings and turned towards the gate. "Look!" Carter tapped Schultz on the shoulder. "There_ is_ a plane. I wonder where they're going. We could have hitched a ride."

"Where do you think you are, Carter?" Newkirk shook his head. "Back home? You'll stick out your thumb, and then be picked up? Honestly!"

Schultz chuckled. "What we need is a lady. Like in that movie with Clark Gable."

"What movie is that?" Langenscheidt asked.

"_It Happened One Night_." Newkirk grinned. "1934. It was with Claudette Colbert. They were trying to hitchhike and Clark Gable couldn't pick up a ride. So she got to the side of the road, and showed off her legs." Newkirk snapped his fingers. "Just like that, they got a ride."

"Our legs aren't that attractive," Langenscheidt deadpanned.

"It was a funny movie," Schultz recalled.

Carter wasn't paying attention to the conversation. He was glancing behind him at the group of vehicles, horns blaring, quickly heading in their direction_. Are they after us?_ He thought. Carter nudged Newkirk and pointed.

"Blimey! Schultz, stop the jeep!"

The sergeant pulled over, and then he and Langenscheidt turned to look.

"We've got company," Boswell yelled to the men in front.

Both Hogan and Garrett leaned over and spotted the convoy, which was now in danger of overtaking the slowly moving plane.

"Cripes!" Hogan floored it, and took a tight turn onto the runway.

"I think they're after the plane!" Newkirk yelled as he saw the convoy ignore them and head for the runway in a futile attempt to block the aircraft. He then froze. "That's the guv'nor. I'm sure of it!"

"Schultz! Go after the plane!" Carter yelled.

Without questioning the American, Schultz revved up the jeep and sped towards the convoy.

"The jeep's at the end of the convoy," Garrett reported. "Hold it, I think that's…"

"No time to see who's in there." Hogan started to pick up speed. "We're taking off!"

"They're shooting at us," Boswell reported.

The plane climbed at a steep angle. Fortunately, the shots missed, and soon Hogan was able to straighten out the aircraft. "Everyone all right back there?" he asked.

"Yeah." Garrett was holding his stomach, while the general had turned an unpleasant shade of green.

Hogan grinned. "Now, what were you saying about the jeep?"

Boswell said, "I thought they looked familiar. Like one of your guards from camp. But why would they be down here? Never mind, let's get out of here."

"Get on the radio and tell London we have the package," Hogan ordered. "We'll touch down near Hammelburg."

"Will do," Boswell grabbed the radio.

"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz had climbed out of the jeep and had begun waving his hands.

"It's too late, Schultz," Carter said forlornly as he gazed at the trail left by the plane. "Our ride home just took off without us."

"Well, he didn't know we would be here, did he?" Langenscheidt thought he had made a good point, but no one answered. "Who would have thought we would all end up here at once. What a coincidence." The corporal shook his head, then hopped out of the jeep, and saluted as the cars in the convoy that had chased the plane, emptied.

"Who are you and what are you doing?" demanded a Gestapo agent.

"We're from Stalag 13 in Hammelburg, Captain. We came to look for the Senior POW officer who escaped from a truck on his way to a prisoner swap."

The Captain blinked several times. "Uh huh. Would that be Colonel Hogan, Corporal?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why are you traveling with these two prisoners?" asked a Luftwaffe officer.

Since the conversation was being conducted in German, Carter and Newkirk remained silent, and let the two guards explain.

"They are familiar with Colonel Hogan's tactics and were assigned by my Kommandant to help with the search," Schultz told the major.

"Hmmm. Very irregular, if you ask me."

"Agreed," the Gestapo officer stated.

"Why are we all standing here conversing with these people when the plane got away?" the Swiss representative said. He was standing beside the Red Cross representative who bobbed his head in agreement. He turned. "Don't you think you should be doing something?"

"We'll notify the authorities and tell them to look out for the plane."

"Schultz, what are they saying?" Newkirk took several steps forward, in hopes of hearing more of the conversation. Carter followed. They both grinned sheepishly at the Germans and waited.

"They are going to notify the authorities and tell them to look out for the plane," Schultz translated.

"And then what happens if they find it?" Carter asked, fearing the answer.

The Luftwaffe major understood English and answered Carter's question. "If they head towards Allied airspace, we will shoot it down. If they stay in our territory, we will try to force it down. The SS should not be allowed to kidnap our prisoners."

The Gestapo officer muttered something under his breath about certain branches of the service being soft, and then without a further word, turned on his heels and left. The Swiss and Red Cross representatives followed, leaving the Luftwaffe officer alone with the search party from Stalag 13.

"I suggest you four head back to your prison camp." He looked at the jeep. "Is this your transportation?"

"Yes, sir!" Schultz's face brightened. "Our pilot defected. We have no other way back."

"Well, it's not a bad drive. Just watch out for detours, raids and that sort of stuff. Should take you about 6 to 8 hours. You may want to stay over and leave tomorrow morning. Check with your superior."

Schultz's face fell as his hopes of a plane or escort fell. "Major, we're not from that Hammelburg. We're the lesser known Hammelburg. By Dusseldorf."

"I must have misunderstood, Sergeant. I thought you said you were from Stalag 13."

"No, sir, we are from Luft Stalag 13 near the other Hammelburg. You must be thinking of OFLAG XIII-B and Stalag XIII-C."

"You see, sir, they're bigger. That's why they have Roman numerals in their name." Carter nodded for emphasis.

"We are from the toughest POW camp in Germany," Schultz said proudly. "No successful escapes."

"He's right," Newkirk said. "The Kommandant is hard as nails, he is."

Suspicious, the major paused. "Wait one minute. Dusseldorf is in District 6. Let me see your orders."

Schultz quickly handed them over.

"This is highly irregular," the major repeated. "Why is there a 13 in this district?"

"That, sir, is a question no one has ever been able to answer," Newkirk replied.

"He is correct, Herr Major," Schultz said.

"Perhaps you should contact General Burkhalter?" Carter suggested.

"I might just do that. You have a long journey back; and one closer to the fighting. I suggest you be careful. Dismissed." The Luftwaffe major walked away, grumbling, and vowing to do as the American suggested and call the general. But for now, he had to make calls and try and track the missing plane.

The four dejectedly went back to the jeep. "I take it we're not getting an escort," Langenscheidt said as he put the car in gear.

"Road trip." Newkirk reached over and patted the two guards on the back. "We'll be all right."

"Does anyone know 100 bottles of beer on the wall?"

"This is Germany, Carter. We know all there is to know about beer," Schultz stated, "Including songs."

_This is going to be a long trip. _Langenscheidt sighed, drove out of the airfield and headed north.

* * *

(1) Gottlob Berger: SS general put in charge of Germany's prisoners of war in autumn of 1944. First mentioned in ch. 2.


	12. Chapter 12

_Recap: Hochstetter's savvy friend and colleague had the wherewithal to tell his aide to alert all airfields in the area to be on the lookout for the two SS men and their kidnapped American colonel and rescued Wehrmacht general. But Hogan and party have successfully escaped the airfield and the guns and clutches of the Luftwaffe, Gestapo etc. They have taken off in a small transport plane, with Hogan at the controls. General Steinmetz has convinced himself that Hogan is actually a traitor. Boswell, in the back with the general, decides not to address this misconception. Garrett thinks he saw Schultz and company in the jeep, but the quick exit precludes picking up passengers. Besides, why would they be at the exact same airfield at the same time? Meanwhile, Newkirk and Carter realize it is the guv'nor in the plane. They know the SS men are Allied agents, but Schultz and Langenscheidt do not. They are now faced with a harrowing trip back to camp. At this point in the war, Allied planes have control and are known to strafe vehicles on roads (it happened to Rommel), as well as trains, planes and automobiles…wait that's another movie. Never mind. It's dangerous. And this is not our heroes' neck of the woods. Captain Mitchell has notified London of their predicament. Here's hoping they can help, before the four run out of gas, patience and road songs._

_FYI: I am not familiar with German aircraft or flight maneuvers. For the sake of the story, it has two seats in the cockpit, and some room in the back, as well as some means of defense._

_Chapter 12_

"I spy, with my little eye…something…brown."

From the back of the jeep, Newkirk tapped Schultz on the shoulder. "Schultz, can I borrow your rifle, so I can shoot 'im?"

Paying no attention to the annoyed Brit, Langenscheidt answered, "Is it the tree trunks?"

"No, sorry. Newkirk?" Carter turned to his buddy. "Your turn to guess."

"I'll guess…I guess you'll be sorry if we keep playing this ruddy game."

"Oh." Carter's face fell. "Do you want to play 20 questions?"

"No!" Both Schultz and Newkirk yelled and then held on for dear life as Langenscheidt hit a huge pothole and ran off the road.

"Oops, my apologies. Didn't see it. It's starting to get dark."

"Karl, get out and fix the tire. You two, go help him." Schultz was getting really ornery, tired and frustrated, and so he had more command presence than usual.

"Maybe I should drive," Newkirk suggested. "If I can handle London traffic; detours, debris and holes shouldn't be a problem."

"Fine," Schultz agreed. "You'll drive about an hour, and then we'll have to stop overnight. It'll be dark by then."

"You won't throw us in some jail, will ya, Schultz?" Carter blinked his puppy dog eyes at the guard, while Langenscheidt snickered. "Oh, fudge, I dropped the nuts." He began crawling on his hands and knees in the mud. "I'll find 'em. Hold on!"

"Blimey, Carter, don't be so clumsy!"

"Hey!"

"Newkirk, stop insulting Carter; it's not nice. Now get back to work." At the sound of planes overhead, Schultz looked up. "Looks like yours."

"They're too high. I wouldn't worry about them." Carter held out his hand. "I found the nuts."

"Give me those," Newkirk grabbed them out of Carter's hand and gave them to Langenscheidt. A few minutes later, the four were on the road again.

After stopping at a roadside inn for dinner, they headed towards their next rendezvous…a small village several kilometers off the main road. Before stopping at a check point, Schultz took the wheel from Newkirk and presented himself to the guards manning the post outside of town.

"Papers," the bored guard, an older man in his sixties, asked.

"We need accommodations for the night," Schultz said as he retrieved the envelope. "Is there a hotel available?"

"Nein. It was hit by an errant bomb and has not been repaired. You can check in with the police garrison. It's on the only main road. You can't miss it."

"That's too bad," Carter sighed. "I could use a real bed."

"We'll have to make do. No monkey business when we get in." Schultz drove off and within minutes he pulled up next to the police station. It was small, with the requisite Nazi flag draped over the top of the building. "Ooh," he shuddered at the sight of two Gestapo agents hanging around the street. "Gestapo makes me nervous."

"You're not the only one. Oy, Schultz, you may want to hide those bottles of liquor we bought at the restaurant," Newkirk suggested.

"Good idea." Schultz hastily put the bottles on the floor and covered them with a blanket. "Karl, why don't you go in this time? I'm too old for all this climbing in and out of the car and asking for help."

"Um, sure." Langenscheidt had enjoyed the dinner with his charges. After several drinks, everyone had calmed down and mellowed out. He didn't ask where Carter and Newkirk had found the German money to buy the drinks and the liquor, figuring the less he knew the better. He had long ago learned to just go with the flow at camp, and everything would turn out all right.

He smiled nervously at the Lieutenant on duty. "Please sir, can you put us up for the evening? We are two guards and two POW's traveling north." He handed the papers over.

"Two POW's?" The man, who looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties, put on his reading glasses, and took his time studying the documentation. This made Langenscheidt even more nervous, and the corporal began to fidget. "In a hurry, son?"

"No, sir."

"Have to take your time with these things. Lots of counterfeits out there; underground agents, civilians trying to go here and go there, escaped prisoners," The Lieutenant licked his lips and then leaned back in his chair. "You know, just last week, we had a group of Luftwaffe officers coming through town, checking in. Guess what? Turned out they were all AWOL!" The man began to laugh. "Whatya think about that? Almost missed it…but my eagle eye, right here…I looked at their papers. Something didn't look right."

_I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere with the German Sherlock Holmes_. To Langenscheidt's relief, the rest of his party barreled through the door.

"Karl, what is taking so long…Oh, I'm so sorry, sir. I did not see you behind that desk." Schultz offered up a fancy salute.

The lieutenant strolled out from behind his desk. "Name is ….Schneider, sergeant. Lieutenant Schneider. Getting your gofer to do your work? Bet he makes you drive, too. Right, son?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. We share the duties." Langenscheidt turned to Newkirk and Carter and looked for help, realizing, too late, of course, that this entire exchange was in German. But Newkirk took the bait and tried to bail out both the young corporal and Schultz.

"Corporal Peter Newkirk, sir. RAF, at your service. And this is my superior. Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter." He poked Carter in the ribs.

Carter grinned and saluted.

"These are your POWs?" For some reason, Schneider had seemed to take a liking to Langenscheidt. He continued to ignore Schultz, who remained frozen, and sputtering.

_Well that's obvious_, Langenscheidt thought. "Yes, sir."

The lieutenant stood in front of the two, who were now somewhat amused, but standing at attention.

"I don't speak no English!" he yelled in their faces.

"Well, sir," Carter said. "Ich spreche kein Deutsch!" he yelled back. "Why do I feel like we're in the middle of small town USA dealing with a small town sheriff?" he asked Newkirk.

"Every country has them," Schultz whispered. "Karl, see if we can spend the night."

"Um, sir, do you have any facilities, where…"

"Well, there is a small army garrison in town, headquartered on top of the local hardware store. Store is closed now. Ran out of supplies. But the owner had to give up his rooms. He takes care of the soldiers, and the Gestapo, if you get my drift." The officer, who seemed to harbor no fear of Hitler's regime, winked at the group. "Or if you want, you can camp out in our cell. Two cots and a floor. No one is there at the moment." He looked up at the group and waited patiently for their answer.

Langenscheidt had no desire to tangle with the Gestapo this evening. "We'll take the cell," he told him.

"Fine. You want to lock these two in then for the evening?" He glanced at Newkirk and Carter; then looked away.

"No, that won't be necessary," Schultz answered. "They won't run. Besides, we will take shifts guarding our prisoners. You have our word." He gave both Newkirk and Carter a look that said_, I'm right__, a__ren't I?_

"Now where would we go, Schultz? We just want to go back to our nice safe prisoner of war camp. Tell you what; we can play cards." Newkirk pulled out a pack. "Does the Lieutenant want to join in? No language barrier in poker. Winner gets the cots."

By the time darkness took over, the lights turned out, and the blackout curtains pulled down over the windows, Newkirk and Carter were comfortably asleep on the two cots, and Schultz was camped out on the cot in the hall. Langenscheidt and the police Lieutenant, had both lost at cards, and were currently sharing guard duty. Soon they dozed off in their chairs and soft snoring could be heard. Quietly, Newkirk slipped off his cot, put his hand over Carter's mouth and woke him up. "Come on. They're all asleep."

They slowly swung open the cell to the door, tiptoed out and headed over to the front desk. Newkirk put his fingers to his mouth, then pointed to the radio and telegraph machine. Carter nodded. He twisted the dial on the radio, and then began to type out a message.

_Hhhh00000hhhh_

Mitchell was dreaming of his days as a private, where all he had to do was follow orders. How Rita Hayworth got into the mix was a mystery, but soon his wife became involved and she began yelling and pushing. He woke up to find Olsen gently tapping him on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry to wake you sir, but we received a message." Olsen handed Mitchell a blue piece of paper.

"That's all right, Sergeant." Mitchell slipped on his robe. "Did anyone respond?"

"Just to let them know we received it on this end. They had to quickly sign off. But at least we know where they are."

Mitchell read the entire message. "Get me a map. So, Hogan's absconded with an airplane and our posse is…here." He pointed to a small town, as the rest of the barracks filed into his office. "Contact London and let them know Newkirk and Carter's position. My guess is Hogan will try to land either at the airfield outside of Hammelburg, or secretly at our air drop spot." He looked up at the group of men who normally worked with the operation. "What do you all think?"

hhhhhh

Klink had imbibed an extra glass of warm milk that evening. He was truly stressed, and worried. The entire operation had turned into a farce, and it was all Burkhalter's fault. If Burkhalter hadn't ordered him to leave Hogan in the dark, Hogan would have remained in the truck, which might have arrived at the border before the SS, and Hogan would have been switched. Then he wouldn't have had to send two guards and two prisoners out on a wild goose chase. He couldn't imagine why he had thought of that. But it was too late now. And…it was Burkhalter's pilot that had defected. So, yes, everything was Burkhalter's fault. And now Hogan was gone, and his guards and prisoners were bound to get lost or killed driving back. His only hope was that the colonel would be found and rescued. Despite Hochstetter's assistance, Klink was not optimistic. And then the phone rang.

"Yes, what is it?" he complained. "What? Oh, yes, put him on. General Burkhalter, it's a pleasure to hear from you this evening… Word? No, no word. What? He what? Yes, sir, I understand; in the morning. Heil Hitler."

Klink sank back into his pillows. Hogan, the general, and the two SS men had slipped away from their pursuers, and taken off in a plane. At this point, he figured Hogan would never be heard from again. He couldn't decide who was worse; the Gestapo or the SS. But Hogan wouldn't have a chance with the SS. Of that, he was sure.

hhh000hhh

"Turn on the Guard switch!" Hogan screamed at Garrett, as he put the plane in a nosedive in order to evade a group of American bombers and their escorts on their way to wreak more havoc on a battered Germany.

Garrett hastily grabbed the radio, and switched the frequency in order to broadcast on the emergency frequency.

Hogan glanced over. "Not the German one… ours!"

"Oh." Garrett dialed in the correct number. "Now what?"

"Tell them there are American POW's in here! And to stop shooting; we pose no threat!" Hogan screamed, "In English, with a German accent!"

Despite the maneuvers Hogan was putting the aircraft through; both he and the plane were hanging in there. Garrett marveled at how the pilot could keep his composure as he put the plane through the gyrations necessary to avoid the flak and gunfire. He, however, wasn't so lucky, as he was about to lose his last meal.

Meanwhile, the passengers in the rear weren't faring much better. The general had unbuckled his seat belt and was scrambling to find a way to fight back, while Boswell attempted to stop him.

"What's the matter with you?" The general shoved the agent in front of a machine gun turret. "Shoot!" The two then tumbled towards the tail end of the plane. Like a sinking ship, they both reached for whatever solid object they could find in order to stop their plunge.

As the plane began to level off, they started a slow climb towards the front.

"If we shoot, they'll shoot back!" Boswell screamed.

"They're already shooting. It can't get much worse!" Steinmetz yelled.

"Yes, it can! Get back in your seat, and let Hogan fly the plane!"

Steinmetz scrambled towards the cockpit, while Boswell contemplated tackling the German. He started after the general, fingering the pistol in his waistband.

"The Germans are monitoring this band," Garrett objected. "They'll hear us!"

"I don't care. We can't keep this up without firing back. I'm not shooting at our own planes!"

Garrett grudgingly spoke into the radio. There was no response. At the sound of movement behind him, Garrett turned.

"Shit! We've got company!"

"I'm ordering you to fire to defend ourselves!" Steinmetz screamed into the cockpit.

"Shut him up!" This time, Hogan headed vertically straight up, almost stalling the aircraft, turned, and then ended up behind the bombers.

"Oh, dear God," Boswell, sweating profusely, was still hanging on to the bottom of the cockpit doorway. His fingers were so cramped, he couldn't release his grip. Steinmetz had slid to the back of the plane, and lay motionless on the floor.

"Shook 'em," Hogan said triumphantly. He grinned and then tried to high-five Garrett, but the agent was doubled over in his seat. "Boswell, go check for damage."

Boswell took several deep breaths, wiped his brow, and headed back. "There's some holes back here!" He yelled. "The box of rations is toast! And we're trailing lots of smoke! Oh, and the general is dead!"

* * *

Schneider is the German word for tailor.

"_American and British aircraft had and still have a switch on the radios labeled as GUARD which is tuned to a specific frequency. GUARD is an emergency freq that all fliers monitor. I do not know if the Germans had a similar mode of or if they did if the freq was the same BUT Col Hogan would know what the freq was and could dial it in the radio control head." __**Radio information courtesy of Michael Spivey of the Hogan's Heroes yahoo group.**_


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13_

Garrett turned his head around, and in the distance spied General Steinmetz's body sprawled across a bench in the rear of the aircraft. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

"Yup," Boswell answered. "Looks like some shrapnel from the attack hit him in just the wrong spot."

"Never mind that," Hogan was trying to control the now shaking plane, but despite his sore shoulder, he managed to keep both hands on the controls. "Where is the smoke coming from?"

Boswell had to hang on to the side to maintain his balance. "Left wing and part of the tail." He then climbed back to the cockpit area and stuck his frame through the doorway.

"We're losing altitude," Hogan said to himself. He made some adjustments, and then looked out over the dark terrain. "Garrett, check the navigation. How far are we from Hammelburg?"

The agent, who fortunately had some flight training and could read the map and use the stars as a guide, responded, "Fifty miles. Do you think we'll make it?"

"Doing my best to try," Hogan grimaced. "Boswell, strap in. This is going to be rough." Hogan wanted to avoid ditching the plane and jumping out over a populated area. He didn't wish to cause any civilian casualties, nor did he wish to have all of them captured by local authorities. That would invite too many questions. His best bet, he assumed, was to make the attempt at a landing, either at the airport, or in a field used by underground members and London, when they had to land operatives. It was in this field, last June, that he had been picked up by a plane, and taken to London. (1)

"Um, Hogan. How are we going to find a landing place? It's dark."

"Good question, Garrett. We'll try for the airport, which will be lit, but the field is closer."

"If we can make the field; that would be great. Fewer questions."

"No worries," Hogan grimaced. "I think I know where it is." He grinned and gave a thumbs up. The plane began to lose altitude, and as Hogan feared …fuel. "Our tank was hit!"

"What else can go wrong?" Garrett replied as he tried not to panic.

"Don't make me answer that. Boswell, you strapped in?" Hogan yelled. He received a grunt in reply. "Good. We're crashing in the field," Hogan said calmly.

_We're gonna die,_ Garrett thought as he closed his eyes.

* * *

After Mitchell and Kinch sat down with some maps and figured out Hogan's flight route, six members of the operations unit at Stalag 13 quickly changed into camouflage outfits, and headed towards the field that Mitchell hoped would be Hogan's landing spot. Fearing it would be missed in the darkness, he told the men to listen for the plane, and then quickly light up the field. (2)

"I hear it!" Olsen, who was in charge of the group, motioned to the men, as a sputtering could be heard in the distance.

"It's got to be him," LeBeau whispered. "Lucky he didn't head for the airfield. But the engine doesn't sound good."

"He can handle it." Olsen whispered back. He began to make out a shadow heading their way. "Okay fellas, this is it! Move. Make it quick and as soon as he lands, turn off the lights."

With the wings on the plane slowly dipping from side to side, Hogan gently guided the craft to the ground. He thought he was close to, if not on top of the field, when suddenly, a makeshift runway lit up in the night. "Well what do you know?" He didn't care how the camp found out he was coming, but planned on thanking whoever had sent the message. "This will make it easier," he said to his two terrified passengers. "At least I won't crash into the tree line."

Fighting the craft and cursing his injured shoulder, Hogan brought the plane down. It was an extremely rough landing, but he somehow managed to bring the craft to a halt. The colonel leaned over the controls and took several very deep breaths.

"Are we dead?" Boswell murmured from the back. Feeling like he had been run over with a truck, he slowly disengaged himself and gingerly stood.

Garrett had seen the struggle with the controls, and was willing to concede Hogan's skill as a pilot. He turned and looked at him. "I have to give you props. No pun intended. Great flying."

"We need to get out of here. We're several miles from camp." Hogan unstrapped and opened up the door. He was helped down by Olsen.

"Good to have you back, sir." He saluted. "Anyone hurt?"

"We'll survive. But we have one dead. A German. Can you get him out?"

The men had immediately surrounded their C.O. and didn't notice the two spies begin to exit the plane.

Garrett slowly climbed out of the cockpit and hopped down to the ground. Boswell was not far behind.

"Evening fellas and thanks for the help." Boswell held out his hand.

An astonished Olsen dropped his flashlight, while LeBeau began to laugh.

"Mon Dieu. You two again? This is beginning to become a habit."

"I should have expected this." Olsen recovered from his shock, picked up his light and shook Boswell's hand. The other five men then crowded around Hogan's escorts. "So you were the agents London sent to stop the swap?"

"Right. But it didn't go quite as expected. Hogan took off, and we had to find him, then this general gets himself shot. Oh, and let's leave the body on the plane, Hogan. Let the authorities find him."

"I hope you two know what you are doing. We're going to have to come up with a whopper."

Garrett grinned. "I thought that was your specialty."

The group trudged out of the field and to a truck that had been borrowed from the motor pool. As they clambered aboard, Hogan turned to Boswell and Garrett. "I'm so tired, I can't even think straight," he admitted. He plopped himself down on the floor and leaned up against the canvas. The three closed their eyes and stayed silent during the short ride back to camp.

Towards the back of the truck, Olsen and LeBeau were quietly discussing their cohorts, who, along with Schultz and Langenscheidt, were still attempting to make their way back to camp.

"Should we tell him?" Olsen whispered to LeBeau.

"Non," LeBeau answered. "Let him be comfortable for a little while at least."

* * *

A very tired Colonel, along with two tired spies, slowly climbed down the ladder and into the tunnels under Stalag 13.

"Get the medic," Olsen said to the closest prisoner, who quickly turned and headed into the maze.

Both Mitchell and Kinch were waiting nearby.

It was several minutes later when Hogan realized something was amiss. "Where are Carter and Newkirk? Up top?"

Kinch and Mitchell glanced at each other.

"Not exactly, sir." Mitchell swallowed. "You see…"

Hogan waved Wilson away and held up his hand.

"Did you say, not exactly?"

"Yes. They aren't here. They were sent out to look for you."

Hogan stood up and approached Mitchell. "Did I hear you correctly, Captain? They were sent to go look for me?"

"Yes, sir. But it's not what you think." Mitchell said. "You see, sir…it was, sort of, Klink's idea."

"Where are they?"

"They were sent down south with Schultz and Langenscheidt."

Hogan waved Wilson away again. "Go take care of those two first." He pointed to Boswell and Garrett. "They got banged up in the crash."

"But, sir. Your shoulder could be…"

"Now, sergeant!"

Wilson moved away, and left Hogan facing Kinch and Mitchell, while Olsen, LeBeau and several other men from Barracks two stood by.

Hogan took a deep breath.

Seeing the look on Hogan's face prompted Mitchell to step forward. "I take full responsibility for everything, sir."

Kinch stepped forward. "Colonel, with all due respect, it was Captain Mitchell's idea to light up the field…and he figured out the timing."

Hogan was exhausted, so he pulled over a chair. "All right. Start from the beginning. I want to hear everything that happened from the time I left camp."

* * *

The entourage from Stalag 13 spent a moderately comfortable night in the small jail and left early the next morning. The cordial warden provided an updated map, and also suggested taking a route further to the east to avoid any fighting.

"Wonder where he got that map?" Carter asked Newkirk. "You'd think they would be hard to come by at this point."

"Don't know, and I don't care. Schultz, turn right at the fork." Newkirk was acting as the official navigator, while Langenscheidt and Carter kept an eye out for things to avoid, like convoys, troops, or Allied planes. "Wish we could have grabbed an ambulance," he muttered as sounds of explosions were heard in the distance.

"Sorry," Schultz said through gritted teeth. He was frightened of making the long drive, but didn't wish to scare Langenscheidt. As to Newkirk and Carter...They appeared cautious, but not terribly afraid. Considering what monkey business those two had been involved in for several years, Schultz figured to them, this was an excursion. "This is the best we could do."

The group looked up at the squadron of P 51 Mustangs screeching overhead. Fortunately, the pilots ignored the lone vehicle and headed further inland towards their objective. Shortly later, the four could see a huge fireball in the distance and in order to avoid the destruction, they were forced to change their route.

* * *

Despite rumors to the contrary, Hochstetter was not an ineffective investigator. He had spoken with his friend down near Switzerland the previous evening, and found the information passed to him extremely interesting. The next morning, he set out for Stalag 13, arriving not by coincidence the same time as General Burkhalter. They both marched into the Kommandant's office, and stood before an unnerved Klink.

"Major Hochstetter. It's a pleasure to see you this morning. I was only expecting you, General."

Hochstetter and Burkhalter began speaking at the same time. Burkhalter frowned at the Major, who deftly stepped back. "By all means, General…please go first."

Burkhalter glared and then spoke. "We have had some reports coming in from down south about the possible identities of the two men who ambushed the swap."

"Really?" Hochstetter withdrew a file from the briefcase he had carried with him. "I have descriptions."

"Would you like to sit down?" Klink meekly grabbed another chair and placed it in front of the desk. He waited for the major and general to take their seats, then intertwined his fingers and looked them both squarely in the eyes. "I know nothing of these two men…I assure you."

"Actually, you may." Hochstetter opened his file and revealed two sketches and a description. "My contact at the border spoke with everyone who had seen these two men, and he was able to get a sketch."

"Despite the way the war is going, your service is still quite efficient," the general noted.

"Yes," Hochstetter replied as he stared at the general, whom he hated. He knew the feeling was probably mutual, but he ignored the rivalry. "Klink. Look at these pictures and tell me if you recognize these two men."

Klink moved the sketches in closer, and stared at them for several moments. He read over the descriptions. "Something does seem familiar about these men, but I can't place them right now."

Burkhalter leaned forward. "Do the names Weis and Schmidt mean anything to you?"

Klink shook his head, as Hochstetter leapt up from his chair. "Weis and Schmidt? Those were the two imposters who…"

"Yes!" Klink interrupted. "The two men from the Gestapo who took Colonel Hogan away for questioning? That was last year. You mean they work for the SS?" (3)

"Apparently." Hochstetter answered. "And they tried for Colonel Hogan again. But this time, it looks as if they have succeeded."

"This looks really bad," Klink said morosely. "Especially for Hogan."

"Never mind that, Klink," said Burkhalter, who by now figured Hogan was a goner. "This impacts the prison system. We have tried to follow the Geneva Convention with the Americans, so they treat our men equally as well. The Americans are very angry. And if they find out the SS was involved…" _And if Hogan talks, and admits to having something to do with the sabotage around here, I'll be in big trouble._

_Hypocrite,_ thought Hochstetter, who was well aware that the Germans in American custody were treated much, much better than the Allied POW's in German POW camps.

"Now that we have a positive identification on these two, I'll send bulletins throughout the country. But if he is in the hands of the SS, there isn't much that can be done." Hochstetter, furious that he would never get his hands on Hogan, packed up his files and stormed out of the office.

"General, is there anything I should do?" Klink, had by now inexplicably convinced himself that Hogan was nothing more than a high-ranking pilot captured by the Germans. His thoughts turned to his fellow officer, whom he realized was probably dead after an intensive interrogation.

"No. Eventually General Steinmetz will turn up, and there will be a story of how Hogan was shot while trying to escape or something like that." Burkhalter shook his head in disgust. "I'm leaving for Berlin. I need to make a report in person. You'll be hearing from the Red Cross, I'm sure. Make something up."

The phone interrupted their conversation. Klink picked up the receiver and motioned for Burkhalter. "It is for you, General. It's urgent."

The general took the call. "Wait. Don't let Hochstetter leave the compound." Klink hurried into the outer office. "I see. And was there any sign of the three of them?"

Klink returned with the Gestapo major a few moments later.

Burkhalter motioned to the Gestapo agent. "You need to go to a field outside of town. It appears that a plane made a crash landing there sometime last night."

* * *

Hogan had slept soundly, not surprising since he had been up for close to 24 hours. After Wilson had determined his shoulder was merely strained, not dislocated, Hogan accepted a painkiller and sleeping pill, and had sacked out. Boswell and Garrett had sacked out as well, after agreeing to put their heads together in the morning to figure out the next step.

They were all greeted in the morning with a breakfast of ersatz coffee, crackers, and canned meat from Red Cross packages.

"Hmm," Boswell said as he stabbed the meat with a fork. "Not eating as well as the last time we were here."

"Not by a long shot," Hogan said. "We're not getting any extra supplies coming in from town. LeBeau has been posting recipes and giving cooking lessons in the mess. The men are getting creative with their cooking."

"Just like home." Kinch, who was keeping the group company, grinned.

An out of breath runner from up top approached the table. "Colonel Hogan, We thought you should know that the plane has been found, and Hochstetter and Burkhalter are still in Klink's office. And they have identified Mr. Garrett and Mr. Boswell as the two fake Gestapo agents that were here last year. Sergeant Olsen and Corporal LeBeau are still monitoring the coffee pot, sir."

"Thank you private. Dismissed." Hogan pushed his chair back. "I think it's time I returned to this nuthouse, don't you?"

"Yeah. You know, I didn't think those three were that sharp." Garrett said. "Looks like we should be making a quick exit, stage right."

"They may act stupid, but once in a while they'll surprise you," Hogan reminded the two agents. "And we have to be ready when that happens. It's how we've stayed alive. Anyway, we'll get you out of here as quick as we can. But let's wait and see what happens after they search the plane. And now…let's come up with a story that would fool Houdini. And while we are at it, get Carter and Newkirk back before they take a wrong turn like Steinmetz did, and get captured by our own side." Hogan's thoughts turned to other more deadly possibilities, but he didn't want to voice them out loud.

* * *

Carter, Newkirk, Langenscheidt and Schultz's chance of returning to Stalag 13 safe and sound, and making good time, took an unexpected turn. They had inadvertently hooked on to the back of a German convoy heading east to reposition themselves to defend the Rhine, when the convoy was attacked by a group of Brits bent on harassing the fleeing Germans. Currently, the four were cowering in a ditch at the side of the road.

Suddenly, Newkirk dashed out of the ditch and headed for their abandoned jeep.

Carter screamed, "What are you doing?"

"Getting our booze! I paid good counterfeit money for those bottles!" Newkirk began crawling towards the vehicle.

"Newkirk get back here!" Schultz yelled. He was too scared to poke his head out, but his voice still worked. "If something happens to you, Colonel Hogan will kill me." How he thought that Hogan would still be alive and safely back at Stalag 13 to wreak hell on him and his companions was beyond him, but it seemed like the right thing to say at the time.

Newkirk, holding the three bottles of liquor began crawling back to the ditch. Fortunately, the bullets kicking dirt inches beside him missed the corporal, but scared him enough that he dropped the bottles, got up, ran and jumped in.

"That was stupid. I'm putting you on report when we get back," Carter said solemnly.

"Me too," Langenscheidt quivered.

The two POW's poked their head over the side of the ditch and watched their jeep explode.

"Oooh. That's not good." Newkirk poked Schultz. "We're down one jeep." He then stuck his head above the ditch just in time to see one of the bottles hit and the contents spill out over the road. "Oof." He grimaced. "Oh, I can't look."

"At what?" Carter stuck his head out of the ditch and then quickly popped down. His face fell. "We lost the booze. Sorry chum."

"How will I explain this to the Kommandant?" Schultz whined once the planes disappeared.

"Never mind that," Langenscheidt answered as they crawled out of their ditch. "Now what do we do for transportation?" Their jeep was a smoldering wreck, the group of Germans in the convoy was regrouping in whatever transportation they had left, and medics were tending to the injured.

"We start walking." Carter turned to Newkirk. "Where's the map and compass?"

"I gave the map to Langenscheidt."

"It's in the jeep," the corporal moaned. "Along with the compass."

"And our rifles," Schultz added.

"Well, chums. This is another sticky wicket." Newkirk began heading for what was left of the convoy. "I say, we start planning on how to move forward. Otherwise,_ I'm_ waiting for sundown to head west, where we'll hopefully run into Allied lines. Let's try not to get shot in the process." The Brit, with Carter several yards behind him, took off towards the German medics at a fast pace.

Langenscheidt and Schultz, wondering if perhaps getting captured by the Allies wasn't such a bad idea at this point, quickly followed.

* * *

(1)_ D-day at Stalag 13_

_ (2) I saw this done by French Resistance fighters in a documentary (World War 2 in colour). They lit up a field so that a British plane could land supplies and commandos._

_(3) my first story featuring Boswell and Garrett: SNAFU_


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14_

Deciding that the time was ripe to make his reappearance, Hogan left the emergency tunnel and took a slow walk back towards the main gate of the prison camp. Before leaving, he had Wilson scruff him up a bit and put his hurt arm in a makeshift sling, which he actually realized made him feel a bit better.

"Do you have any idea what you're going to tell them?" Boswell asked the colonel before he left.

Hogan shrugged. "I'll come up with something between here and Klink's office." He laughed. "I've had less time to make something up, and for some reason he usually believes the story I've concocted. At least, I think he has."

Hogan approached the gate and began waving his arms. Unlike some prison camps, the guards at Stalag 13 tended to ask questions first before shooting. One of the two guards at the gate looked at the man through his binoculars, dropped them on the ground and poked the other guard. They bolted for the gate, opened it and waited for Hogan to come in.

"Are you all right, Colonel?" the first guard asked in astonishment.

"I'll live, Corporal. Can you take me to the Kommandant's office, please?"

A small crowd of prisoners and guards began to form. Hogan raised his hand, immediately quieting the group. "Can one of you run over to my barracks and tell them I'm back?"

The prisoners quickly disbursed and headed for Hogan's hut, while the two perimeter guards escorted the colonel to the Kommandanteur. "Thanks. I'll take it from here." Hogan ran up the steps and into the outer office.

Hilda let out a squeal but quickly squelched it when Hogan gave her a signal. "What happened to you?" she mouthed.

Hogan smiled. "Tell you all about it later. He's inside?"

"Yes, with General Burkhalter and Major Hochstetter." Hilda made a face that left no illusions as to her feelings about Klink's two visitors. "In fact, Major Hochstetter just got called back to the office."

"Why don't you announce me?"

Hochstetter was just about to leave Klink's office when there was a slight tap at the door.

"Yeeesss, what is it?" Klink asked.

"I'm sorry to interrupt the meeting, Herr Kommandant, but Colonel Hogan is here to see you."

Klink sighed in annoyance. "Tell him to go away, we're busy…" He stopped as Hogan barreled through the door. "Hogan, how many times have I told you not to… Hoogaaan! What are you doing here?"

"Thought I would get a nicer greeting," Hogan grumbled, as Hochstetter's mouth hung open. "Major, you'll catch flies."

Hochstetter ignored the insult and recovered from his shock. "Yes, Hogan what are you doing here? And how did you get away from the SS? I was about to head down to take a look at the airplane."

Burkhalter remained silent. _This ought to be good_, he thought to himself_. I'm never getting rid of him. He's like an albatross around my neck._

"Well, then, you may find the two SS agents that somehow knew I was being swapped, found me after I escaped the truck, and then pulled a fast one at the border crossing. Did you know they were the same bozos that came after me last spring?" (1)

Without asking, Burkhalter walked over and poured himself a glass of sherry, downing it in one gulp. He turned and faced Hogan. "You didn't answer the major's question."

"Oh, yeah," Hogan replied, "How I got away." Without asking, Hogan pulled up a chair, sat, and leaned back with his feet on Klink's desk.

"Hogan, sit down properly," Klink ordered, as he reclaimed the seat behind his desk and stared at the other officer. "We're all ears."

"Weis was flying the plane, while Schmidt was in back with us. The general and myself, I mean. But we got into a fight with an Allied squadron and the plane got hit. The general didn't listen. He got agitated and tried to make it into the cockpit, which is when he got himself killed. Lucky shot. A piece of shrapnel hit his carotid, I think."

"He was always an idiot," Burkhalter mumbled.

Hogan ignored the general's comment and continued. "Weis yelled back that he couldn't control the plane. That's when Schmidt uncuffed me and ordered me to take over the controls

"I'm surprised you didn't refuse," Hochstetter said suspiciously.

"Well, major, I'm not suicidal. I figured when there is life, there's hope. Thought maybe there was a way that I could take advantage of the situation I was in. Sooo, while I was trying to come up with something, I kept heading towards Berlin. But the damage to the plane was bad, and I convinced them that we wouldn't make it." Hogan chuckled. "I lied. The damage was bad, but I added a little emphasis to my maneuvers to make it seem worse."

"You mean you could have made it to Berlin?" Klink asked.

"No, I doubt it. But I didn't fancy jumping with those two right behind me. So I turned and headed west. And they did what I hoped. They unbuckled and stood behind me with a gun. That's when I put the plane in a loop." Hogan grinned. "The force of gravity took care of them from that point. I headed for France, but unfortunately, I realized the plane wouldn't make it."

"Why Hammelburg?" Burkhalter pressed Hogan.

"Don't you remember, sir? That's where the Kommandant and I jumped when the plane we stole from England ran out of gas. Oh, and General, you still owe me money." (2)

Another tap on the door interrupted Burkhalter's nasty retort.

"Yeeesss?" Klink said.

"Captain Mitchell is here." Hilda smiled at Hogan, who smiled back.

Mitchell ignored the Germans in the room and approached Hogan, who had arisen from his seat at Klink's desk. They exchanged salutes.

"Colonel, it's a pleasure to have you back, sir. We were extremely worried."

"Thank you, Captain. I take it everything here is copacetic?"

Mitchell lowered his voice. "Colonel, may I speak with you privately outside?"

"Of course. Kommandant, I will be right back." Hogan didn't wait for Klink's permission. He just followed Mitchell into the outer office, and left the three Germans wondering what copacetic meant.

"Is that a code word?" Burkhalter asked Hochstetter.

"I don't know. Klink?"

The Kommandant was frantically searching through a German-English dictionary. "I think it's slang, actually."

"They what?" Hogan yelled.

The three Germans jumped at Hogan's bellow. "I believe that would be a reaction to Mitchell informing Hogan about the search, Klink," Burkhalter noted as the door swung open to reveal a visibly furious Hogan followed by a slightly nervous Mitchell.

"You three are going to get my men back here, safe and sound, now!" Hogan ordered; an icy tone to his voice.

Burkhalter stood head to head with the colonel and looked him straight in the eye. "You are in no position to order anything, Colonel. I suggest you remember where you are and who is in charge."

"We don't even know where they are at the moment," Klink, who was trying to be helpful, added.

"You will have a lot to answer for, when I inform the Red Cross about what has happened over the last few days," Hogan retorted. "Plus, to threaten the other prisoners with executions if my men escaped is totally inexcusable." (3)

Hochstetter laughed. "What makes you think the Red Cross will find out any time soon? When are they scheduled for their next inspection, General?"

"Not for a while, and with the fighting, we can't guarantee that the packages will get through, much less a representative."

"General, when this camp is liberated, there will be a lot of questions, and you better make sure that, for your sake, I give the right answers," Hogan said.

"Liberated?" Hochstetter replied. "A little optimistic, aren't we, Colonel Hogan?"

Burkhalter stared at Hogan for a moment, and then addressed Klink. "When and if Sergeant Schultz gets in touch with you, inform him to stay put. Somehow I will find a plane to go pick them up." (4)

"Now you are thinking, General. I can fly it," Hogan offered.

"No, you will stay right here, where you belong," Klink stood up. "Besides, you are hurt. Go see the medic."

"Can you arrange for a medical transport, so hopefully they won't get shot at?" Hogan asked Burkhalter.

The general sighed. He knew Hogan had him over a barrel. "I can arrange for a medical transport. Klink, call me as soon as you hear anything."

* * *

Hogan and Mitchell walked back to Barracks two together. They were again greeted by the residents, who were relieved to hear that the plan the two had hatched to get Burkhalter to offer a plane had worked. "Make sure the radio and phone are monitored constantly," Hogan reminded them. "Carter and Newkirk may get in touch with us, before Schultz calls Klink. The captain and I will be in my office."

Mitchell stood stiffly at attention as Hogan first looked at him, and then sighed. The colonel took off his cap and placed it on the table. "Well, now. What do you have to say for yourself? Orders are orders. No one comes to my rescue."

"May I speak freely, sir?"

"Of course."

"We weren't surprised you managed to get away from the men in the truck. But truthfully, how far did you think you would get with no papers, no civilian clothes, and the POW painted on your jacket? Oh, that reminds me. We ordered another one for you. London will send it when they get a chance."

"It won't be broken in," Hogan complained. "But thanks. Oh, I realized my chances were not the best. But, I was willing to take it, rather than head somewhere for interrogation or be sent to a labor camp. And I did have a German uniform. You're changing the subject. Getting back to Newkirk and Carter, and your manipulation of Klink… Well done, by the way."

"I learned from the best, sir."

"Don't flatter me, Captain."

"I felt the opportunity presented itself to kill two birds with one stone. Like I said, Burkhalter shifted the burden to Klink, and well, I thought it would increase Klink's chances of finding you if we could somehow get some control over the situation." Mitchell paused to collect his thoughts. "And we were afraid for your safety. I know that's not what you wanted to hear, but it was my command, and I would do it again."

Hogan scratched his chin with his good arm. "I appreciate your honesty. But I'm not happy with sending two enlisted men down to the other end of the country."

"They were eager to go, sir. And they've handled more dangerous situations here. Every time they head out, they could be shot as spies."

"True," Hogan agreed. "Look, I know you probably had a bit of persuasion from the gang out there. And you did light up the field. But…you're still not off the hook." Hogan began to pace back and forth. He understood where Mitchell was coming from. Hell, he might have done the same, if he were in the captain's shoes. He would certainly do anything to rescue any one of the prisoners in camp. But, there was still the chain of command to consider. And Mitchell had sent two enlisted men into a potentially dangerous situation. Not to mention two innocent guards. "All right. Since you've had a brief stint at running this operation, it's time you've put in some real time. Once this is over, you'll pull overnight radio duty, say, for two weeks."

Mitchell was relieved he wasn't demoted. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Oh, and Colonel, one question. If Boswell and Garrett hadn't found you, and Carter and Newkirk had, would we be having this conversation?"

Hogan grinned. "Don't push your luck."

* * *

(1) SNAFU

(2) _ Easy Come, Easy Go (6th season)_

(3) Actually, Burkhalter threatened this if Hogan tried to pull a fast one in _Easy Come, Easy Go._

(4) With the Luftwaffe almost completely defeated, and Germany short of fuel, planes were not that easy to come by at this point. (Feb. 45)


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter 15_

As Newkirk and Carter moved closer to the German medics, they came across a roadway strewn with soldiers injured in the air attack. Several dead bodies had been moved to the side of the road.

"Hold it, buddy," Carter put his hand on Newkirk's chest. "Wait for them to catch up with us, or this will look really weird."

First Langenscheidt, then a huffing and puffing Schultz, caught up to Newkirk and Carter. The four presented themselves at the first group of medics.

"Unless you are medical personnel," a skinny corporal said as he was bandaging an officer's leg, "Step back. You're in the way." The soldier didn't even look up.

"Schultz, I don't think this is a good spot to make an appearance," Newkirk whispered. He glanced at the wounded and shuddered. No matter which side you were on, he thought, it never got easier. The team normally didn't stick around to see the results of their sabotage missions, and the subject was not discussed.

Langenscheidt, who apparently knew a bit of first aid, had disappeared. He was about 20 yards away, assisting a medic who had his hands full.

"It's too late, Newkirk." Schultz pointed at a corporal heading their way; pointing a rifle at the two Americans.

"What is this?" he inquired of Schultz. "And who are you?"

"These are my prisoners! We are from Stalag 13."

Newkirk and Carter gave the German a tentative wave.

"Why are they not secured?" Another soldier, a sergeant, who had joined his buddy, asked. "Were they from the squadron that strafed us?" he added in a menacing tone.

"Oh, boy," Carter muttered.

"No, no!" Schultz quickly answered. "We were traveling to get back to our prison camp, and we got caught in the same attack!"

"Well, Sergeant, after we get things sorted out here, we're headed to the rear. We need to take care of our wounded." The man continued to glare at Carter and Newkirk, which made the two edgy. "You're on your own." He then took off, leaving his buddy behind.

The corporal continued to stare at the group of travelers. "Wait, this looks all wrong…"

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" Schultz muttered under his breath.

"Let me see your orders. You still have those, don't you?" the corporal demanded.

"Yes," A nervous Schultz began checking his pockets. Finally Newkirk reached into the guard's back pocket, and pulled out an envelope.

"Here, Schultz." Newkirk handed him the envelope.

"Oh, thank you, Newkirk."

"You are on friendly terms with your prisoners," the soldier stated.

"Well, we have been together for a long time," Schultz replied as he handed the pass to the inquisitive and suspicious corporal.

"You're a long way from Stalag 13. And you're heading the wrong way. You need to turn further east."

Schultz frowned; then sighed. "That is the OTHER Stalag 13, by the OTHER Hammelburg. We are in Luft Stalag 13, outside of OUR Hammelburg, south of Dusseldorf. See?" He pointed to the paper. "Colonel Wilhelm Klink is the Kommandant."

The soldier glanced at the pass and the four men permitted to travel. _I don't need this right now_, he decided, as the few working vehicles loaded with the wounded began to move out.

"We're moving out!" A medic shouted.

"Well, whatever prison camp you are from, good luck getting back. We're retreating," the corporal said as he began walking to the one remaining jeep.

Schultz and company stood there forlornly, wondering what to do next, when the jeep, which had been hit with a few bullets, began choking and making horrendous sounds. The soldier hopped out, opened the hood, and stared inside. He walked around the vehicle, then stood back and kicked the tire in frustration. He threw his rifle down in disgust. This scene was observed intently by Newkirk and Carter. They glanced at each, nodded in unison, and sprung up.

"Schultz," Newkirk said, "Tell him we can look at the jeep."

"What? You jolly jokers! Every time you fix the Kommandant's car it is worse. And I wind up in trouble. Every time." Schultz wagged his finger as Langenscheidt, who had joined them, nodded in agreement.

"You're insulting us, Schultz. Let us give it a whirl. What have we got to lose? And then maybe as payment, he'll drop us off somewhere where there is a phone or radio."

Schultz looked at Carter. He looked sincere, but the others had guns, and if the Americans screwed up, he was fearful of what could happen.

"Maybe Carter can jury-rig something. He's good with that stuff," Newkirk emphasized. "He would have had that gonculator working if it wasn't for missing that part on that diagram." (1)

"Yes, except it blew up!" Langenscheidt scratched his head. He had snuck a peak at the mysterious piece of technology. He thought it looked like a rabbit trap, but who was he to point out the obvious.

"All right," Schultz agreed. He walked up to the soldier and spoke to him out of the earshot of his group. The soldier nodded, and Schultz waved them over.

"He says go ahead. The jeep won't work and he doesn't want to be stuck here, but any monkey business, his rifle is loaded."

Carter and Newkirk sprang into action. They salvaged some useful spare parts from their jeep and within an hour, the soldier's jeep started. Although it was cold, they wiped the sweat off their brows and stood back, pleased with themselves.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Schultz muttered. "Corporal, you will take us further, until we can make contact with our camp?"

"Yes, a deal is a deal." The five piled into the jeep and drove off, trailing the group of injured soldiers. An hour later, they pulled aside a mansion, which had been turned into a field hospital. "Follow me," the corporal instructed. "You should be able to use the communication set-up inside."

It took several hours of working with a phone chain to get a message down the line to Stalag 13. Newkirk and Carter sat down up against a wall and tried to get some sleep, while Langenscheidt again offered his services to the injured, leaving Schultz to guard his two prisoners and wait for a connection.

Klink was sleeping when he was interrupted. He quickly headed into his office and grabbed the phone. "Stay there! Don't go anywhere!" were Klink's orders, when he heard Schultz on the other end of the line. "We are sending a plane!"

"A train, Herr Kommandant? I beg your pardon, but the trains are being bombed."

"Yes, yes, I know they're being bombed. That's why General Burkhalter is sending a plane!"

"Oh, a plane! That is very nice of General Burkhalter. We will wait here. We will not move a muscle." Schultz saluted, although Klink could not see it.

* * *

Hogan was relaxing on his bunk when he was startled by the appearance of two men. He almost fell off. "What are you two doing up here!"

"Easy, Colonel. How's your shoulder?" Boswell didn't wait for an answer. "We were bored, so we came up top to see what was shaking!"

Hogan jumped down. "Most of us are sleeping. That's what's shaking."

"Don't worry, no one saw us," Garrett mumbled through a bite of a sandwich.

"Don't talk with your mouth full!" Hogan chided him. "What do you mean no one saw you?" He walked over to the door, opened it and found nothing amiss. Thankfully, one man was watching the door, with the rest engaged in normal activities; under their thick blankets, trying to keep warm. "Hey, why'd you let these two in here?"

"Sorry, sir," Goldman answered. "They said they had news."

"Oh." Hogan turned. "Well?"

"We raided Klink's quarters and found two decent bottles of wine, some roast beef and a loaf of pumpernickel. Want some?" Boswell offered Hogan part of his sandwich. "Seeing your food rations aren't the best, I'd figured you'd be mighty happy to see this!" He quickly said as Hogan's face began to turn a bit red.

Hogan's first thought was where did Klink get the real bread and the roast beef, but he quickly tossed it aside. "Are you nuts?" he asked, a bit too calmly. The tone in his voice made the men in the hut a bit nervous and they glanced at each other.

"No we are not nuts," Garrett replied in a tone suggesting that such a thing would be as rare as the Cubs winning the World Series. 2) "Klink left his office a short while ago. We were in and out in 5 minutes, plus we raided his safe. Nothing in there of any importance, except he's stashing Swiss francs."

Hogan knew that was true. Several days before the prisoner swap mess, Newkirk had opened the safe to check its contents. "That's old news."

"Yeah, well," Boswell said in between bites. "Klink left his office because Schultz finally called in with a location. Klink called someone, and then went over to the guard house."

"We've got company!" the watch at the door yelled. "Klink is heading this way." At that moment, the bunk entrance swung open, and LeBeau and Kinch scrambled up.

"He was on his way here, you idiots! Get down!" Hogan had to save his annoyance with the two spies for another time, as he hustled them and their food over to the ladder. Everyone had taken their usual spots, as the door swung open, revealing the Kommandant and a flashlight.

Klink glanced at Colonel Hogan. "Why are you out of your bunk? Never mind. I have some good news. We have located Sergeant Schultz, Corporal Langenscheidt, and your men, and they have been instructed to stay where they are. General Burkhalter will dispatch a plane to pick them up and bring them back."

"Thank you, sir. Where are they?"

"That is none of your concern, Hogan. But they are safe. They should be back sometime tomorrow."

"I will hold you to that!" Hogan demanded. He and Klink then held a brief stare down, with Hogan winning the contest.

Klink coughed. "That's all. Diiismissed." Realizing he was the one that had to leave, he turned on his heels and left.

The men in the room broke out in laughter. "Kinch, what have you got?" Hogan asked as the sergeant approached.

"In a nutshell, basically what the Kommandant reported. Our source says they're stuck in a field hospital near Baden-Baden. (3) Orders are to stay put until they are picked up by someone and taken to the closest operating air field. There are two pilots this time…in case anyone has any ideas about defecting. Looks like Burkhalter is thinking ahead and covering all the bases."

"Well, I won't be happy until those two walk through the front door. Meanwhile," Hogan added, "We need to get up and running again."

"What do you want me to do with Boswell and Garrett, sir?" Kinch asked.

Hogan sighed. "Hold down the fort up here. I'll go talk to them." Hogan gingerly climbed down the ladder. "Where are they?" he asked Captain Mitchell, who, as Hogan had instructed, was manning the radio.

Mitchell pointed towards a holding area, where rescued flyers and escaped prisoners often waited. "Should I call for a sub pick-up?"

"No, let's wait and see what plans, if any, they have. Who knows, maybe they'll be with us for the duration," Hogan grumbled. He shuddered at the thought of keeping them in the tunnels for weeks, if not months, depending on when the camp was liberated. _No, I'll shoot myself, _he thought as heprepared to face the two agents. _Useful in a crunch__, b__ut live with them? No way._

* * *

_(1) The Lutz diagram, from "Klink vs. the Gonculator"_

_ (2) 1908 vs. Detroit_

_ (3) French troops took Baden- Baden on April 12, 1945. _In both World Wars, the town escaped destruction. After World War II, Baden-Baden became the headquarters of the French forces in Germany.


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16_

Boswell and Garrett, being more of the dashing espionage mindset rather than of the military frame of mind, which – despite appearances to the contrary – permeated Stalag 13, didn't get up off their cots when Hogan appeared in their small private nook set up in the tunnel system. The two spies had managed to scrounge up enough material to equip their temporary living space with a curtain, a hot plate, a coffee pot, a bookcase, extra pillows and blankets, food, their radio transmitter and weapons, several changes of clothes stolen from Newkirk's stash of civilian wear, and a record player. Tommy Dorsey was playing as Hogan stared at his two guests in disbelief.

"I see you've made yourself at home," he croaked.

"Yup," Boswell answered as he turned a page in one of Klink's girlie magazines.

"Evening," Garrett answered Hogan. The spy appeared to be engaged in his new favorite hobby, knitting. A scarf was beginning to take shape. He put down his needles and swung himself off the cot. "Coffee?" he offered. "It's not good, but it's hot."

"Sure," Hogan replied. "That would be...No! What on earth do you think you're doing?"

"Waiting for orders." Garrett poured himself a mug, grabbed a cookie and sat back down. "Then we should be out of your hair."

Hogan began counting to ten. "I know you're waiting for orders. I meant, what do you think you're doing _here_, in my tunnels?"

"Just thought we would make ourselves comfortable for the duration." Boswell offered Hogan his magazine, which Hogan grabbed. "You wouldn't believe this, but the last few months have been pretty bad. Dodging air raids and living in bombed out apartment houses, one step ahead of the Gestapo. Not that it hasn't been rough for you guys here, of course."

"You told me that already. At the farmhouse, remember?"

"Gee, we did, didn't we? Seems like a long time ago, don't ya think?" Garrett quipped.

"All of this goes back; every bit of it. Now." Hogan forgot his bad shoulder and pointed with the bad arm. "Ouch," he groaned.

"You should watch that," Garrett said. "Where's your sling?"

"Never mind that. Get moving, or I'll ... I'll... Just do it." Hogan couldn't think of anything to do with the two of them. So he turned on his heels and stormed out of their sanctuary. Muttering to himself, he stuffed the magazine in his pants pocket and, still angry, slowly climbed up the ladder. Kinch offered the colonel a hand as he climbed through the bunk entrance.

"Isn't that one of Klink's magazines, sir?" Kinch asked.

"Yes." And without another word, Hogan walked into his office and slammed the door.

* * *

The following morning, Schultz, normally a sound sleeper, awoke with a start. Something was gnawing at him, and for several minutes he couldn't understand why. He and his charges had sacked out in an out of the way corner of the field hospital while they waited for their transportation to arrive. Suddenly he remembered what was bothering him. Not wanting to wake Langenscheidt, who was still sound asleep, he frantically began shaking both Newkirk and Carter.

Newkirk opened one eye then the other. "Schultz, it's still dark out. Let me sleep." Carter groaned and just rolled over.

"We – no, I mean I – no, we are in big trouble. I mean really big trouble. When the Kommandant finds out, he will do something to me. I don't know what, but something not very nice. And to Karl as well, and I don't know what to do. Please, boys, it will be worth my life."

Carter, hearing this, rolled back over. He poked Newkirk, who yawned and then said, "All right, Schultz, what are you talking about?"

"We left our rifles in the jeep," Schultz whispered. "And they exploded."

"Oh, that's right," Newkirk whispered back. "We left the liquor in there as well."

"Yes," Schultz replied. "But we're responsible for our rifles, even though I do not like guns."

"Not to worry," Newkirk said. "We'll get you some rifles."

Several minutes later, Newkirk and Carter were silently making their way through the darkened mansion hoping to find the weapons lockup. Normally, if any weapons came in along with the wounded, they were removed, catalogued, and locked up for safety. Or at least Carter and Newkirk assumed that's what happened. Fortunately, they were correct, and they found a small cabinet located in a deserted hallway, guarded by only one soldier who was asleep on the job. Newkirk quietly and efficiently broke into the cabinet, removed the first two rifles he could lay his hands on, handed them to Carter, and then shut and relocked the cabinet. They then backtracked, and within several minutes they had returned to their out of the way corner. "How's this?" Newkirk asked Schultz.

"I don't think they're loaded," Carter added.

"That's okay," Schultz answered. "What do you Americans say? I owe you one?" he asked Carter.

Carter grinned. "Aw, shucks," he said. "You would have done the same for us."

A few moments later, Langenscheidt woke up. "Hey Hans, where did these rifles come from?"

"Don't look a horse in the mouth with a gift, Karl."

Shortly after sunrise, the group ate several unappetizing morsels of rations, and then waited outside for their ride. Around 7 am, a truck driven by a corporal and carrying two officers in the back, skidded around a corner and stopped at the entrance to the hospital.

"Sergeant Schultz?" the corporal asked after he exited the cab.

"Here," Schultz approached. "Did General Burkhalter send you to fetch us?"

"Don't know, don't care. But I'm supposed to take you to the airfield. Those two back there are the pilots."

The four travelers eagerly scrambled into the back. The two German guards saluted the two pilots, while Newkirk and Carter made themselves comfortable on one of the benches. There was little conversation between the four Germans, as both Schultz and Langenscheidt were tired, relieved and a bit embarrassed, while the two pilots were pissed that they had to travel together in order to dissuade each other from deserting. A half an hour later, the hospital plane sent by General Burkhalter took off, and headed for the small town of Hammelburg.

* * *

Roll call was especially long and tedious that morning. Apparently Klink was in a bad mood and was taking it out on the entire camp. Even Hogan was beginning to fidget, and his lack of attention was quickly noted by the Kommandant, who berated the officer in front of the other prisoners. This made Hogan even testier, but not as testy as Klink, who stood right in front of the American and offered this explanation.

"Something is missing from my private quarters, Hogan."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. But what does that have to do with me?" Quickly, in unison, and without either officer taking notice, the men in barracks two took three steps back.

"Insolence!" Klink pointed out, loudly. "You want to spend five days in the cooler, Hogan?"

Hogan held up his one good hand and stepped back. "After having my jacket ruined with paint, my hands cuffed, thrown in a truck, not being informed of where I was going, being recaptured by the SS, told I was being swapped, and then kidnapped by the same two SS brutes, made to fly a plane being shot at by my own side, and crashing the plane in a field, that sounds like the Waldorf Astoria, Kommandant. Don't leave my forwarding address." Hogan turned and began heading for the cooler complex on the other side of the compound. "Oh, and while there, I can work on my report to the Red Cross, the Swiss, and the Allied Command, who will take quite an interest in how our prisoners are being treated in your lovely chain of camps here in General Burkhalter's sector. And by lovely, I am being sarcastic!"

"Hogan, stop!" Klink ordered.

The colonel turned.

"Dismiss your men. I'm sure none of them are responsible for stealing my reading material. Or perhaps I misplaced it. Guards! Finish the count and let the prisoners go." Klink walked towards his office and stomped up the stairs. _I liked those bricks, _he mused,_ but Hogan was correct. The wood is not as slippery._

The men in Hogan's barracks were stomping their feet and rubbing their palms to ward off the cold, but they were all inwardly amused at the altercation between Klink and their C.O. So much so, that Hogan told them to wipe the grins off their faces before he walked into the hut, grabbed the confiscated magazine from a hiding place in his office, and tossed it into the stove. "That ends that. LeBeau, what's for breakfast?"

The French chef frowned. "A delicious gourmet mixture of spam, crumbled into a fragrant stock, flavored with bones I stole from the Boche officers' mess, with a touch of winter root vegetables, and a hint of canned cheese, thickened with some powdered milk taken from our emergency Red Cross packages. It's cold and everyone could use soup," he said emphatically. "Even if it's three times a day."

Hogan nervously sniffed LeBeau's pot. "It doesn't smell bad. All right, front and center. Everyone, let's eat."

* * *

"Better make sure this is the right Hammelburg," Carter quipped. He was joking, but Schultz took him seriously.

"Carter, this plane is from General Burkhalter. He knows which Hammelburg is which."

"Yeah, but do the pilots?" Newkirk asked, as he poked Schultz.

"Honestly, this is getting tiresome." Langenscheidt's second flight was going as well as his first. He was a bit green around the gills, and his eyes were shut.

"Take some deep breaths," Carter told him, sympathetically. "How did you end up in the Luftwaffe, anyway?"

Langenscheidt opened his eyes. "Connections," he quickly said, as he shut his eyes again.

"Flat Coca Cola. Best thing for motion sickness, mate," Newkirk said. "Not that we have any. How much longer, Schultz? Be a good lad, and ask the pilots, before Karl here turns any greener."

Schultz unbuckled and headed towards the cockpit. He came back seconds later. "Several more minutes, and we will be landing at the airfield."


	17. Chapter 17

_Sorry for the delay, and thank you for your patience and reviews. Real life had to really take over for a while._

_Chapter 17_

Hilda happily knocked on Klink's door and swung it open. "Call for you, Kommandant. It's Sergeant Schultz."

Klink motioned for the secretary to wait. "Schultz, where are you?"

"We are at the airfield, Kommandant. How do you want us to get back to camp?"

Klink hadn't thought about the last leg of the trip. "Stay there. I will send a truck." Klink hung up and called the motor pool. He then asked his secretary to send a guard for Colonel Hogan.

Hogan sauntered into the Kommandant's office a few minutes later, offered a sloppy salute with the wrong hand; then plopped himself in the chair on the other side of the desk.

"Make yourself at home"

"Thank you, sir. I have."

"Hooogann! I'm being sarcastic."

Hogan chuckled and leaned on the desk. "You sent for me because…?"

"Schultz called from the airport. I sent a truck out to fetch everyone."

"That's a relief. Thank Burkhalter for me. Anything else?" Hogan asked before he stood up.

"No. I'm just glad this whole entire business is over. Go ahead, Hogan. Dismissed." Klink led Hogan to the door, and then poured himself a glass of schnapps_._Klink was happy to have Hogan back, although he wouldn't admit it to the American. But he suspected Burkhalter was not too happy with the turn of events. Leave it to Hogan to foil the General's plans one more time. How, he did it, he didn't know, especially considering the SS involvement; but he was sure Hogan's hand and the colonel's seemingly endless luck since he had arrived at Stalag 13, had played a part.

The colonel's step was a bit quicker as he walked back to his barracks. "They're on their way back," he announced happily as he removed his hat and gloves.

There was applause and good-natured comments all around.

"Here's hoping Burkhalter has given up on his quest to get you out of here, sir!" LeBeau raised his mug of coffee.

"I'm leaving through the front gates, sooner than later, I hope. Where are Moe and Larry?" Hogan asked, using his nicknames for Boswell and Garrett.

"Down below. Cleaning up their inventory of ill-gotten gains," Kinch reported with a grin. "You want me to fetch them?"

"When Carter and Newkirk are back. Don't want any Krauts in here. Even Schultz would recognize them. I have to exercise this shoulder. Let me know when the truck arrives."

The truck drove into camp a short while later. Schultz and Langenscheidt went immediately over to Klink's office to report, while Newkirk and Carter headed right for the hut. They were greeted by loud applause.

"Should we take a bow?" Carter asked as Hogan's door opened.

"Well, well, well….Our two prodigal sons have returned."

"Colonel! You are back! Boy. We thought you were okay, but how could we be sure. Were those SS guys ours? And how did you hurt your arm? Boy, are we sure glad to see you! Sir!"

"You're a sight for sore eyes, guv'nor. That's for sure. We were at the airfield and thought we saw you in a plane!"

"Well, we thought we saw you two in a jeep, with two guards." Boswell, followed by Garrett, had arrived up top. An astounded Newkirk and Carter stood speechless for several moments.

"They rescued me. Sort of." Hogan pointed at the two agents.

"You were in the plane, with the guv'nor?" Newkirk asked, and then started laughing. "Disguised as SS."

"Yup. Two SS agents recaptured the dangerous escaped prisoner." Garrett grinned. He and Boswell exchanged handshakes with Carter and Newkirk.

"And then kidnapped him, along with the general who unfortunately got killed when the plane was shot at. But we're all okay." Boswell finished. "And you were down there, because?"

"We went to the swap site and found out the colonel was taken, so we headed back to the airfield to find a pilot."

"Our original pilot defected." Carter added.

"Can I finish?"

"Oh, sure, Newkirk. Go ahead."

"Carter made the slip out of the loo, and managed to contact camp. Thank goodness we found out the SS was part of the plan. But we still needed a way to get home."

Carter interrupted again. "That's when we saw the chase. Kind of like Keystone Cops. We thought for sure we saw you in the plane. Anyway, we couldn't do anything. They wouldn't give us a plane, so we kept driving. Lost our jeep when a convoy got strafed, but got a ride with a Kraut to a hospital, and well you know the rest."

"We _are_ quite tuckered out." Newkirk said.

"I gave Captain Mitchell night radio duty for disobeying orders," Hogan informed them. "You should never have been sent out after me."

Carter spoke up. "Oh, don't be too harsh on him, Colonel. He did all right. Not as good as you, of course," he quickly added. "Besides, we volunteered."

"This sort of reminds me of you and Crittendon trying to save me from the Berlin Express." Hogan ran his hand through his hair. "One big mess!"

"Crittenden? You don't mean Rodney Crittendon?" Boswell shuddered. "The one that screwed up the Rommel kidnapping?" (1)

"Yeah, that's the one. Don't remind me. You know him?" Hogan asked.

"Unfortunately, yes. We had to investigate him as well. He's a British patriot through and through, but…" Boswell shook his head. "If I never run into him again, it won't be too soon."

"Look, we would love to stay and chat, but we are taking off," Garrett said. "We've got to get a move on. Now that our cover's been blown, London wants us back. It's too dangerous for us to stay here."

"You're leaving in broad daylight? " Hogan noticed both were still dressed as civilians.

"We're good. We checked the woods and they're clear. Just leaving through the emergency entrance. We have our contacts." Boswell held out his hand, which Hogan shook. "This is it for now, fellas. Hopefully you won't be stuck here too much longer."

Garrett came forward. "I left a scarf, hat, and mittens down below."

Hogan nodded.

"Sorry about the mess with roll call this morning." Boswell mentioned before he descended the ladder. Don't forget there is a loaf of pumpernickel by our cots. We'll send a message when we can."

The two spies disappeared into the tunnels, gave their regards to some of the day shift and took off into the woods.

"Care to make a bet?" Garrett asked Boswell once they had cleared the area. "Liberation date? Closest without going over wins."

"Sure, same stakes. Let's see, it's February 7th. I'll call March 15th."

"Ooh. Ides of March." Boswell thought for a moment. "I'm a bit more pessimistic. I'll take April 6th." (2)

The barracks remained quiet for several minutes, and then Hogan grabbed everyone's attention. "Adventure's over. We have an operation to run. Let's get back to work!"

* * *

Burkhalter had sent home his aides and secretary, and was now engaged in a game of darts. The target was Colonel Hogan. Every plot he had engineered to rid his prison system of the American menace had been foiled. He was aware that the German intelligence operation set up in England had been destroyed fairly early on, with the majority of spies quickly captured, executed or turned. So, using their assistance was no longer an option. He was left on his own, and his latest ploy had failed completely. He walked over to the wall and removed Hogan's picture, which was now in shreds. Placing it on his desk, he stared at it for a moment; then raised the glass of sherry he had poured earlier. "Looks like you won again," he slurred. "I trust we will never see those SS men again. Hochstetter was right. I'll bet you engineered the entire thing. But I can't prove it. Not that proof ever matters in the Third Reich. Does it Hogan?" He swallowed the last of the sherry and sighed. "Well, never mind. We have our little bargain now, don't we? You will provide the correct answers to the questions. And maybe we will both survive this."

Hogan was ordered to Klink's office the following morning, and was surprised to hear that he was scheduled for a private meeting with General Burkhalter. Curious, Hogan didn't protest when Klink stepped out, but instead sat down quietly and waited for the General to speak.

"You play darts, Hogan?"

"Occasionally to pass the time. Usually with a picture of one of your not-so-endearing members of Hitler's staff. Why?"

"I was throwing darts last night in my office. You were the target."

Hogan grinned. "I'm flattered. I hope the photo showed my best side. By the way, do you have a headache? I have some aspirin on me."

Burkhalter grimaced, and accepted the tablets. "I believe that we will never find those two SS men. Somehow, I think this was all engineered. How, I don't know."

"You put too much faith in me, General. I have no way of engineering something that complicated. Besides, I was interrogated and knocked around by those two men once before. Personally, I think someone in Berlin is out to get me."

"Perhaps." Burkhalter poured two glasses of sherry and offered one to the colonel. He swallowed the aspirin along with a large portion of the liquor. "Proof is not necessary to convict someone here in Germany. But, I'm sure you are aware of that. And a conviction of any Allied officer would lead to a swift and lethal sentence. To both the officer and his accomplices. And I'm sure you are aware of that as well."

Hogan was no longer smiling. "What are you getting at, General?"

"Just a warning. Other people would also suffer…should there be a conviction. Those at the top: those responsible for these soldiers being in a certain Stalag. And that is something I would like to avoid. Now, we made our little bargain, didn't we? I brought your two men home safe and sound. And you will provide the appropriate answers to certain questions, when the time comes."

Hogan sat back in his chair and thought for a moment. The prison camp system in Germany and out east was huge. Burkhalter was responsible for one small district located in the area closest to some of the Allied lines. As far as he knew, the camps in this district, while not remotely as good as the camps in England, Canada and the States, were at least humane. Escaped prisoners told of hunger, boredom and disease, but not the horrific conditions, forced marches, and abuse he had heard took place in other sectors. "General, I'm an officer. I keep my word."

Burkhalter didn't respond. He just nodded his head. "Very well, Hogan you may go."

Hogan left the office, gave Hilda a quick wink, saluted Klink and hurried out of the building. He managed to get halfway across the compound, when he felt a bit shaky and leaned up against the wall of another barracks. Taking a few deep breaths; he calmed himself down, and headed over to his hut.

"You all right, Colonel?" Kinch, concerned, asked the officer as soon as he walked through the door. "We heard. Does Burkhalter know? And if he does, why hasn't he turned us in?"

Hogan waved off the offer of coffee LeBeau had set down in front of him. "I think he suspects. But he doesn't know for sure. And he won't turn us in. Because not only would we be facing the firing squad, his neck would be on the line as well. The German command doesn't take too kindly to failures. And this would be failure on the highest level. As in how stupid can one general and one Kommandant be? Plus, he put me here in the first place. Call it mutually assured destruction. Gentlemen. I want this passed on to all the barrack chiefs, and the other officers. We are walking a fine tightrope, without a net. But I have no intention of shutting down our little circus."

Murmurs of agreement filled the room.

"Not now, when we are heading into extra innings."

"I'll explain the reference later," Carter whispered to Newkirk. "I love his pep talks, don't you?"

"I'll get anyone out who wants to leave. No questions asked, but they may be transferred rather than sent back to England." Hogan took several more deep breaths, and stood up. "Kinch?"

"Planes will be passing over tonight," the radioman replied. "Tunnels are empty, for now. And the Underground will be sending over a family, including some children. Their hiding place was compromised."

Hogan nodded. "Like, I said yesterday. Everyone, you know your jobs. Back to work."

* * *

(1) _Crittendon's Commandos_

_ (2) The real Stalag 13 in the real Hammelburg was liberated on this date. For more information about this camp, and the history of it's liberation, please read: _Raid!: The Untold Story of Patton's Secret Mission

_ by Richard Baron_


	18. Epilogue

Sorry for the confusion with the last chapter. It wasn't the end...

Epilogue

Boswell and Garrett were hidden in the back of a farm vehicle. Not only was Garrett stifling sneezes due to the hay, but his partner's encounter with wildlife the previous evening left him in a really foul mood, and forced him to settle in as far as way from the New Yorker as possible.

"Leave it to you to hold out your hand and say, 'Hi, kitty'."

"It was cute, and how was I supposed to know it was a skunk? I'm used to rats in subway tunnels. Beside, listen to you. How can someone who grew up in Florida be allergic to straw?"

"I told you I grew up near Miami, not in the middle of nowhere," Garrett stifled another sneeze. "God, you stink! First thing we do is find an Allied aid station. I just hope any Germans we run into can't smell." He paused as artillery fire could be heard.

The wagon came to a stop, and the driver stepped out and whispered into the hay, "I can't go any further. We're at the river, and there's no way to cross. The Germans are holding all the bridges, the West bank of the river, and the Siegfried line."

The two spies hopped out, and wiped the hay off their clothes. Their contact wrinkled his nose at the stench. "Find some tomato juice and take a bath in it."

"Gee, thanks." Boswell was ready to strip right there, and jump into the river. Of course, with the below freezing temperatures, he'd freeze before getting rid of the stench.

"And watch the river," the German warned. "It could be mined."

"Oh, how nice. That's just lovely." Garrett grabbed a pair of binoculars and scanned the shoreline. "You two get going. We'll take it from here. And thanks."

"Good luck." The German civilian rejoined his wife and headed east, leaving the allergy stricken Garrett and the smelly Boswell pondering their next step.

"We can't swim. We'll freeze to death."

"Way to state the obvious, oh, one who reeks. Achoo! My eyes are starting to swell shut."

"Looks like the nearest bridge is about a kilometer from here," Boswell said as he looked at a map. "Anyone looking at us would think we didn't think this through," he grumbled. "Don't rub your eyes! It will make it worse."

"Not our fault the plane coming to get us was shot down," Garrett retorted, ignoring Boswell's advice. He rubbed his eyes. "Good thing we had a plan B."

"B for, 'Bet you never thought we'd end up like this on the shore of the Rhine, without a working radio'."

"Yeah, well, being shot at, and running full-speed away from an enraged – nothing left to lose – SS platoon, I thought speed was of the essence. Didn't need the added weight; that's why I blew it up. Shhh, I hear something," Garrett held up his hand. Without a word, their training kicked in, and the two agents flung themselves into a ditch near the water and waited silently. To their surprise, two older German soldiers were heading in their direction. It appeared they had been separated from their unit and were trying to make their way back to one of the bridges, which were more heavily manned and fortified.

Several moments later, the two were unfortunately dead, and Boswell and Garrett were now wearing their uniforms. Garrett looked down at the men, whom he estimated were in their fifties. He shook his head at the waste, and then helped Boswell dig a ditch with one of the German's entrenching tools, in which to bury the two. Along with the bodies, they buried the dog tags and identification papers, as those would be no help to them. Their Swiss, SS, Gestapo, and Wehrmacht ID's were discarded, as was their satchel. "Of all the ranks to get," Garrett complained, "We had to get two privates. Next time we should our order our fake IDs in every available rank." The ground was partially frozen, so it took a while, and both agents were exhausted by the time they were done. They ate the meager rations stolen from the soldiers, and plodded on toward the bridge, hoping they were talented and wary enough to get across.

"If we're lucky, there won't be a next time." A rumble heading their way made them stop in their tracks. As the small convoy of trucks carrying troops got closer, Boswell began waving. He and his partner began running alongside the first truck, which had slowed down. "We got separated from our unit. You heading to the other side?" Boswell asked the driver.

"Hop on. We need all the men we can get." The driver pointed to the back.

The two Americans climbed up onto the back, and nodded at the rest of the soldiers crowded alongside them. They all looked tired, hungry and battle-weary. Fortunately none of them looked closely enough at Boswell and Garrett to notice the lack of dog tags. The passengers were silent as they crossed over one of the bridges, and headed towards the front. At the first command post, the men jumped off the truck and started marching, while Boswell and Garrett lingered in the back. At the earliest opportunity, they fell behind and headed towards the woods.

They hid until nightfall; then made their move. Heading west towards Aachen, which had already been taken by the Allies, the two stayed off the roads, and avoided the Germans until daylight. By now, they were freezing, wet and hungry. "Still heading in the right direction," Boswell glanced at his map and compass. "'Bout 15 more miles."

"If we make it through the artillery," Garrett commented. The Floridian was stomping up and down, trying to keep warm. He blew on his hands, and glanced upward as a squadron of American planes flew over. Both men then dove for cover as an explosion tore up the road behind them. More explosions followed, and the two half-ran, half-dived further into the woods.

"This can't continue." Garrett glanced up and spotted a German patrol, the reason for the attack, he assumed. The men were running east, in an attempt to get away from Allied fire. The Allies had great aim, as they bombarded the road ahead of the German platoon. Soon there was quiet. "I say we surrender," Garrett told Boswell. "Before we get killed."

Boswell remained silent for several minutes as he thought about their chances of making it through the front line in one piece. He sighed and then took off his overcoat and shirt. Shivering, he pulled off his white undershirt and handed it to his partner. While putting his clothes back on, he said, "You better hope the first Americans we see aren't trigger-happy."

The two kept close to the ground, as they searched for a soldier to surrender to. This fruitless exercise went on for the next hour as they continued to head west while dodging both German and American artillery. "Now I know why they dig foxholes," Boswell muttered.

Finally, they spotted movement in the distance. Garrett grabbed his binoculars and took a look. "Yeah, those are Americans." The two threw down their rifles and, waving the undershirt, they boldly marched toward the small unit they had discovered. Oddly, the soldiers weren't looking in their direction, so Garrett let out a large whistle. Five men turned.

"Holy moley, it's the Germans!" a young soldier yelled. He and his buddies began to scramble for their weapons.

"Stop right there and put your hands on your heads," one said in slow, broken German. "Wow, wait 'til I write home and tell them I captured some Germans." He nudged the man next to him.

Boswell and Garrett looked at each other; then looked at the five Americans nervously coming towards them. One young man, who looked to be about twenty, approached the two. "Do you speak English?"

"All my life," Garrett stated. Boswell took a step aside and spied what appeared to be tables, pots and cooking utensils.

He chuckled, "Hey, Mitch. It looks like we've been captured by the guys behind the Woolworth's lunch counter. Guess we got further than we thought."

They began to walk forward when a private stopped them. "Don't move another inch. You are our prisoners! I wonder if we'll get a medal for this," he whispered to his buddy.

Playing along, Boswell stopped and said slowly, "Can you take us to the nearest officer? We're willing to tell you everything. Just don't shoot."

"Go get the lieutenant," a corporal told a private, who dropped his weapon where he stood and ran. "Would you like something to eat?" he asked.

"No, thanks, we'll just stay right here," Boswell answered.

Garrett protested. "Wait a minute, that's not polite. I wouldn't mind a grilled cheese sandwich and an egg cream."

The corporal guarding the two looked at them curiously. "Are you sure you're German?"

"Actually," Boswell began. He stopped as he spied a lieutenant following the cook.

The lieutenant came forward. "Name, rank and serial number." He looked at the two and waited.

"We're not Germans," Garrett told the lieutenant. "We're actually military intelligence. Can we use your radio?"

The lieutenant laughed. "Uh huh. Did you run into a skunk?" he asked Boswell in German. "C'mon. I've heard that song before. March."

With their hands on their heads, a still-reeking Boswell and a sneezing Garrett followed the lieutenant; while the mess cooks, wielding an assortment of weapons pointed at the two, took up the rear. They were shortly seen into a tent furnished with a table, several lights, radio equipment, and a few chairs.

"Sit," the lieutenant ordered as he swept the maps off of the table and rolled them up.

Garrett sat down. "Yeah. Look, we really need to contact somebody. Our cover was blown and we've been called back to London." Boswell nodded as he also took a seat.

The lieutenant shrugged as he took the seat facing the two agents. "Name, rank and serial number, and then we'll take you to the rear where you can be the guests of Uncle Sam. Let's go. I'm really getting tired of this."

"These aren't our uniforms," Boswell argued as he began to strip. "Look, does this look like German made underwear?" he shivered.

The Lieutenant lit a cigarette and blew smoke in their faces.

Garrett coughed. "Does that look like a German made body?" he cracked.

"Hey!" Boswell punched his partner. "Can we speak to your superiors?"

Several hours later, having finally convinced a major to contact intelligence and get confirmation that they were who they said they were, Boswell and Garrett were happily in the care of the nearest field hospital, being treated for exposure, severe allergies and extreme body odor.

"Well," Garrett told Boswell, as he pulled the covers up to his chin, "Considering what we've been through in the last few days, you've got to admit this isn't a bad outcome."

"No," his partner replied, "But I think our cover being blown was a blessing in disguise. Personally, I'm looking forward to a nice, safe, quiet office for the rest of the war."

Little did they know...

**THE END**

* * *

A/N Locations, German defenses, front lines etc in this chapter based on military maps dated 2/7/45 _Hopefully, I can come up with another acronym_


End file.
